


Star Wars: Mantle Of Shadows

by CandleWisps



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Abduction, Abuse, Action/Adventure, Asexual Character, Brainwashing, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Creepy Snoke (Star Wars), Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Finn/Rey, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family History, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghosts, Force Twins, Force Visions, Force-Sensitive Finn, Gen, Grooming, Han Solo Lives, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Finn, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Multi, Mystery, POV Female Character, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Poe gets an A+ boyfriend, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Rey Skywalker, Romantic relationships are not the focus, Skywalker Family Drama, Skywalker Family Feels, Slavery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snoke is Plagueis, Star Wars Mythology, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Fix-It, Stormtrooper Rebellion, TLJ is garbage and has no place here, Torture, Trauma, Twins, Violence, Worldbuilding, Yes I'm Writing This As A Coping Mechanism, eventual redemption arc, sorry i dont make the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12998520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandleWisps/pseuds/CandleWisps
Summary: Nothing happened the way it was supposed to happen.We weren’t together like we were supposed to be, we weren’t happy like we were supposed to be, we weren’t safe like we were supposed to be.The Force had taken everything it could from our family and still demanded more. It knew we could take it, because our legacy was fashioned to be mightier than the pull of gravity.





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been two years in the making. Basically my version of the sequel trilogy with an additional Organa-Solo baby. It might start kinda slow but its going to hit lightspeed in the next few chapters. 
> 
> Begins right where The Force Awakens does and then veers dramatically to the left.

If one were crazy enough to believe that the riches of the galaxy could compare to a sunrise on Tython, the sole witness to the phenomenon might've snapped their neck out of mercy—one who'd lost so much of themself should be blessed with a quick end.

An astonishment of this magnitude was worth every organ, every blessed first memory, every cherished hug one had to bid. Even the most hardened of killers could catch a glimpse and remember what it felt like to experience a mother’s embrace. It was right up there in the big leagues, amid the feeling of rain kissing one’s skin and the first glimpse of stars after a stormy season, sandwiched somewhere between a father’s laugh and a brother’s smile.

One simply couldn’t put a price on those things which were divine.

It felt almost oppressive, in a way, how its brilliance set everything else aflame and dared the world to ignore its might. It was staggering. Humbling, even. Meant to remind you just how small you were, and how large.

She took more than a few moments to soak it all in, dangling one-handed from her position on the cliff face, stone solid and cool with the early mornings dew.

Awash in yellows and pinks and orange of every shade, and deepened by the amethyst of night still grasping at the edges of the sky in desperation, the colors danced across the sky, the clouds great stone pillars guarding the entrance to the heavens.

She didn’t normally take the time to marvel at natures gifts, not at the expense of her mission, but she watched the splitting of the sky with rapt attention; it gave rise to new energies within her and that was precisely what she needed. She'd been unable to shake the unease plaguing her, looking for any out to the anguish and tension that had soaked into her skin the previous dawn to coat her bones like magma, weighing her down like a collapsed bantha.

This helped…a little.

But alas, sunrises only last so long, so she was pressed to continue with her journey and find another means of relieving the rigidity that had found a home in her.

Making excellent time for the holds being as slippery as they were, she had already climbed close to the halfway mark. Just another 1,567 feet to go, give or take.

She was provided another hope for distraction as the sounds of the planet began to roar to life, the diurnal creatures leaving their nests to take stock of the day. The ghoulish cries of the screech cat echoed its way throughout the canyon and up the cliff face to alert its fellow day-dwellers of its presence.  Scavengers took up their positions around their territories, ready and waiting for an opportunity, while riti deer cautiously left their burrows to teach their young how to fend for themselves. 

Securing her next hold, she lifted herself effortlessly. One foot after the other, over and over again. A simple enough task, physically demanding, and for anyone else it might have proved challenging enough to be an exercise in mental discipline. But while it was sufficient to warm her blood and set her limbs alight, especially with the immense weight of the pack strapped to her, it was not formidable enough in her experience to be distracting.

So, she reached out.

She extended herself out into the vast, vibrant current of life all around, the cacophony of existence blazing into the fore. Allowing her body to take her where it needed to go, she slipped away from herself and into the skin of her surroundings, one with the earth and the air and the birds and the beasts—one with the planet itself.

She was the passing arb-bird, wind gliding effortlessly through her wings while she sung her morning song; she was the aging harkmouse, bones aching as he gathered fresh leaves for his new den; she was the sunlight filtering through the trees and the water cackling in their streambeds, the great pulse of life emanating from the heart of Tython as its molten core burned fierce.

This distraction proved fruitful to her efforts, her agony smuggled away to the deep recesses of her mind as she focused solely on the task at hand. The rhythm of her breath and steady beat of her heart, the feel of the stone beneath her fingers and the gentle burn of her worked muscles all worked in harmony, as much a part of her as the roots that poked through the mountainside to greedily drink the sun’s rays.

She was lost in the climb. No pain, no fear, no distress. There was _only_ the climb…

…until a high-pitched, soft trill snapped her attention back into her own form.

There was an opening in the cliff face to her left, a crack less than a meter high and barely a foot wide, where a small, observantly curious bird blinked at her.

A baby, she realized. It couldn’t be more than a few weeks old.

The tiny nest-ling cocked its head and stared at her with big, vivid orange eyes, examining the strange alien near its home with interest. An adolescent male of its species, going by the vibrant plumage and the extralong tuft of feathers along the crest of his head.

A slight shuffling sound and an accompanying coo drew her attention to the back of the cave, where her eyes struggled to make out the form of another juvenile; more subdued in color, and tuft feathers far less extravagant, identified this one as female. Its sibling, most likely.

The little guy approached her fearlessly, the creatures of this planet too long unfamiliar with humanoids to be frightened. Unlike her brother, however, the female hung back cautiously, watching the interaction warily as her nest-mate drew ever closer to the giant until he settled down right near the edge.

He sat there, cocking his head from side to side curiously, trilling and chittering to her and wondering why she couldn’t chitter back.

A ghost of what once might have been a smile played at the corner of her mouth as she gave the little guy a scratch under the neck. He leaned into the touch, turning his head just so every now and then to ensure she got every inch, chirping merrily and shaking his feathers in delight at the attention. She abided him, even when he flopped over for her to get his belly feathers in the mix, too. When she moved to get his head once more, his beak latched onto her finger playfully, tugging it from side to side in a jovial bout of pretend. That was fine—he wasn’t yet mature enough for it to hurt.

Besides, his innocent contentment was infectious to say the least, drawing her into his own sense of ease and fulfillment so completely that she failed to notice when he took one step too many to be closer to her.

She was yanked out of him by his own terror as he tumbled over the side of the cliff face.

She caught him, hand darting out swiftly before he fell more than a foot. So small was he that he weighed less than the ration bar she’d been nibbling on that morning. Cradling him carefully, she placed him back on his ledge.

“No,” she said firmly, nudging him back farther into his hollow. “You’re too young for adventures. Stay put.”

She made to retreat, balance shifting ever so slightly to the right, but stopped when the hatchling began to follow her once more.

“ _No_ , I said.” The tiny thing trilled at her sadly, clumsily flapping his wings in what might be considered a tantrum. “Go back to your sister,” she demanded. “She’s the smart one.” The creatures nest-mate seemingly agreed, crying out from the shadows of their den to beckon the curious male back to safety. Good. He circled in place once, twice, three times, clawing at the ground and cooing at his alien friend pathetically. She fixed him with her gaze, broaching no argument. He peered up at her one final time with his big orange eyes, pouting, before recognizing a losing battle and retreating, with a sad trill and drooping feathers, to curl up beside his sister.

She waited until they were sufficiently settled, wings overlapping and necks tucked tight, before moving on—she preferred to make the top before the sun reached its zenith.

*

Three quarters of the way up the cliff face, making excellent time and reaching for her next chosen handhold, was when the bottom dropped out of her stomach and the world began to violently spin around her.

Deep green moss and earthy, unyielding stone vanished into nothingness, replaced by an all-consuming swirl of gleaming yellow sands and striking blue sky. Every now and then, the flashing titanium alloy of a ship’s hull would punctuate the edge of her vision.

A shiver of thought danced through her minds periphery in delight _. ‘I can do this.’_

So potent and sudden was the experience that she was wrenched entirely from the confines of self and began to plummet like a rock, fingers scrambling frantically for any kind of stable hold she could find, at the same time hands readjusted their grip on the leather-coated control levers before her and yanked hard to the left.

_‘Just a little farther…just keep them off a little longer.’_

Fear took a backseat as a deep and innate sense of exhilaration and freedom swelled within her. She could do this—she _was_ doing this. They were still being pursued but they hadn’t been shot out of the sky yet because she was _doing this_.

She pulled hard on the control levers once more to careen wildly in a downward spiral, quickly exchanging any amount of pride she might have felt for an excess of caution. The sands came up to meet them, fast, then exploded into waves as the ship pulled up just in time, pursuers still hot on their heels. Sand and sky, sky and sand twisted in a passionate dance as she was forced into more and more dangerous stunts.

All she had to do was keep them alive till they reached the heart of the Graveyard, that was all she had to do, and by damn if she didn’t know she was going to succeed when they were only seconds away—

Having blindly secured the briefest of holds beneath her fingernails, she threw up her mental barriers with a vengeance, and the visions stopped.

Sand and sky alike faded into the background like smoke on a breeze, the world steadying once more as moss and firm stone returned to prominence. 

No more spinning, no more pursuit—sensations of exhilaration and determination extinguished. The only things remaining from the event were a raging pulse from an adrenaline high not her own, badly scraped fingers, and a desire to purge that familiar and natural contact from every ounce of her reality with desperate fervor.

Not now. Please. It _couldn’t_ be now. She wasn’t ready yet.

She tried to take a deep breath to steady herself. Instead, she threw up, just barely managing to lurch to the side in time to spare her boots.

Leaning her head against the cool stone, she closed her eyes and breathed deep, allowing her physical senses to take control so she might once again find focus.  Her hands were covered in wet red and pulsed with a burning and singular agony, accompanied to a lesser degree by her scraped knees and elbows. The scent of fresh blood was so overpowering it masked the hint of sweat and freshly-sunned earth, reaffirming her need to see to her wounds before she resumed climbing.

Singing softly on a breeze all its own, the arb-bird, blissfully unaware of her troubles, lulled her into a state of calm.

Seeing no ledges within sight, she tightened her hold on the rock between her thighs, balancing all her weight on her lower body so she might free her aching hands. She shrugged her heavy pack off her shoulders, moving carefully, and reached inside gingerly for the medpac.

She made quick—if stinging—work of cleaning and wrapping the wounds: she sprayed both hands thoroughly with an antiseptic, then ripped and folded the cleanest cloth she could find around them.

There was no point in seeing to her knees—they would heal in time.

Once she’d replaced the medpac and taken a mouthful of water to get rid of the taste of sick, she resumed her climb—much more slowly—and concentrated all her energy into reinforcing her mental and spiritual barriers. She cursed herself to the Thirteen Hells of Cystees for being distracted enough to let them fall so far in the first place—it was not like her. Not at all. In hindsight, she might’ve blamed the previous mornings occurrences for her distraction, but it made no difference. This had been close—much too close, and she was infuriated at the risk that had presented. She was enraged.

That rage helped to carry her the rest of the way on her journey. All manner of curiosity or concern was shoved aside and washed away like a blade of grass on a stream—only the anger, channeled into pure physical fuel, remained.

There wasn’t much farther left to go, regardless.

*

She was roughly two meters from the apex of her journey when a mechanical _whee-boop_ , jarringly out of place on this technology-barren planet, drew her attention. Steadying her grip on the stone, she sighed before craning her head to look up into the face of one very annoyed, very worried, very _dirty_ astromech. The silver and blue of his paint job was hardly recognizable under the layers of dirt, moss, and brambles tangled about him.

He stared at her. Whilst others might have thought the ‘staring’ a delayed circuit in his construction, she knew better—he was really debating on the level of petty he wanted to be. After a few moments of silent stubbornness between the two, the droid backed up just enough to give her the space to heave herself, finally, onto solid ground.

They then faced off quietly, each regarding the ragged state of the other, in the shadow of her aging  UT-60D ship.

She knew she was late, but after the events of the past two mornings she wasn’t sure she could stomach a lecture.

Mouth set in a grim way, she said, “Don’t give me that look, Artoo.”

His lights flashed as he absorbed her words, but whether that was because he was angry or surprised at her tone she wasn’t sure.

Then he started yelling at her.

Well, the droid equivalent of yelling was really just an escalated burst of harsh beeps and whirs, punctuated every so often by a purposeful bump into her shins, but she got the point: her lateness had scared him. She stood still and allowed the astromech to rant himself to satisfaction despite herself, tuning out most of what he had to say but allowing him to say it nonetheless.

Artoo Deetoo smacked into her legs once more, declaring his worry: —ARE 27 HOURS OVERDUE. YOU DID NOT EVEN SEND UP THE FLARE. I THOUGHT YOU HAD GOTTEN HURT.

Normally she wouldn’t mind his excesses, but her legs were still scraped to hell and it wasn’t exactly pleasant for her when he rammed into them—not that he could be blamed for not noticing the damage. Her clothes had always been dark enough to hide blood.

Keen to do something productive while he fussed, she moved close to the loading doors of her ship and removed her pack, placing it and its contents delicately upon the ground. She started removing the precious cargo carefully.

Artoo followed her, annoyed. DON’T IGNORE ME, BREHA, YOU LITTLE—

“ _Easy_ ,” Breha warned, done with the scolding. It wasn’t _her_ fault that the planets most widespread natural ore vibrated at an electromagnetic frequency that jammed all communications. “And good morning to you to, by the way.”

His lights flashed at her again. Breha ignored him and got back to work.

Pulling a bundle no bigger than her fist from the pack, she unwrapped the cloth from around it to reveal a small grey canister. Airtight as well as radiation, heat, and lightproof, this small preservation pod contained a sizeable biological sample from the canyon floor. Her pack contained a dozen more like it, each carrying inside them their own organic sample.

These could change everything.

Artoo watched her remove the remaining pods excitedly, grievances forgotten: YOU WERE ABLE TO GET THEM ALL?

“All of them,” Breha confirmed. “Though I had to leave some below in the cache, they were just too big. We can come back if necessary once we have the proof we need.”

And she was close. She was so close, she had almost all the evidence she needed. This collection was just the latest avenue to support that evidence.

Artoo pulled in closer. ARE WE GOING HOME NOW, BREHA?

“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “We’re not that close.”

He beeped sadly.

“It’s not time yet, buddy.”

Artoo whirred, domed head swiveling a little from side to side. He stilled when his photoreceptors beheld her hands. She had bled clean through her bandages. A soft whine of concern was released as he examined her more closely: her eyes were bloodshot and more sunken than normal, skin paler than fresh snow, shoulders so rigid one could break a boulder over them.

WHAT HAPPENED?

Breha had to guess at what he meant, before following his metal gaze. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.” He stared at her. “Just lost control of my grip, is all. It’s nothing, Artoo.”

She went to change the subject, productivity still her main concern. It also helped that one couldn’t dwell on undesirable topics when prioritizing action.

“After we take off we need to get these to Besh immediately. The sooner they’re tested the better.” Artoo was signaling in agreement. Concentrating on the power console inside her ship, Breha flipped a switch and watched as it powered up. She stood and made her way to the loading door just as the entrance swung open, then placed the containment pods on the floor. As she spoke she busied herself pulling out and sorting the remaining items of her pack: plasto-canvas, empty ration wrappers, AT-environmental mapping scanner, canteen, datadisk…the works. She pulled out the medpac too, unwrapping the soiled bandages, and began to rewrap her hands. “Then I wanna’ head on over to the Drive Yards—I’m positive Kuat’s Archives are where the other half of those encrypted files are.”

Artoo snuck up behind her:…AND THEN WE CAN GO HOME? IT HAS BEEN SO LONG. I’M SURE YOUR PARENTS—

“I said no!” she barked, wheeling on him in a fury.

Artoo jolted back in surprise, lights flashing in self-preservation mode.

Regret flooded her instantly and her throat tightened, chest constricting painfully at the distance he’d unwittingly put between them. She clenched her fists at her own thoughtlessness and wallowed in the fresh pain that blossomed in them anew.

“I’m sorry,” Breha started, defeated. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I know you’re just trying to help.” She leaned down to rest her forehead against his own and place a reassuring hand on his dirty plating, knowing he was just trying to help. “That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry, buddy.”

He cooed at her, concern for the well-being of his human still evident. This wasn’t like her. This wasn’t like her at all, and it worried him.

Something had happened.

He leaned into her, the support she could always rely on. She held him tighter.

They stayed that way for a good long while, Breha seeking out every ounce of forgiveness and peace she could while Artoo pretended not to notice the way she trembled from head to foot.

The sun had more than reached its peak, and was on its way down once again by the time she let go of him.

She remained where she sat and started to pick the moss from his gears and untangle the vines jammed around his wheels. As meticulous and careful as Breha always was, it took a while, and when she was done she searched around for a small stick to help dig out the mud caked in the furrows of his design.

“San Tekka’s dead,” Breha finally whispered.

It was said so quietly that anyone lacking his advanced audio processors likely wouldn’t have been able to hear—which was probably the point. She wanted the wind to take her words and carry them far, far away, where they would cease to be real.

His human continued to gently carve out the dried earth stuck in the grooves of his plating. “He was killed yesterday morning. The whole settlement, too. They’re all gone.”

Artoo was quiet, then let out one low, long whine of sadness. He had always had a fondness for Lor San Tekka—the man was one of the most palatable humans he had ever met, wise and mischievous. He was sad for his loss.

He was sadder for the one before him, his own human, and felt weighed down by the feelings that must be coursing through her like magma.

Artoo didn’t have to ask how she knew he had been murdered, and her silence only confirmed who the killer was. Breha was in agony, but she wouldn’t let her pain stifle her focus.

He remained silent, letting them both process their grief, and regretted chastising her as he did earlier. That had probably made her feel worse.

The furrow of her brows and the tension that had taken up permanent residence in her back alerted him to something else bothering her.

SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED, DIDN’T IT?

She took him in fully. He could read her like a holomap.

“No,” she lied. He could see right through her, but knew it better to let the question rest. To let _her_ rest.

Breha took an unsteady breath and cleared her throat, wanting to be rid of the guilt that ate away at all corners of her subconscious.

Eager to change the subject, she let the conversation shift to the task at hand. “So what the hell happened to you? Pick a fight with the local wildlife, did ya’?”

As if waiting to answer that very question, a loud, chorusing ruckus erupted from the tree line. A number of bright, orange, primate-like creatures appeared and started looping and shaking their fists angrily in their direction, shaking the trees so violently in their passion that purple fruit and leaves fell off by the dozens.

The biggest one—large and muscular and noisiest by far—dared to come the closest, kneading the dirt between his claws furiously and occasionally throwing handfuls at Artoo as though he were challenging the astromech to a fight. Or to another round of one, was probably more like it.

Guess that answered why he was such a mess.

She turned to her companion. He tried to turn his head away in embarrassment.

“…What’d I tell you about pissing off the locals while I was gone? They might’ve dismantled you.”

He whirred in indignation: I WAS _TRYING_ TO SCOUT OUT A SAFE ROUTE DOWN TO COME LOOK FOR YOU. Then he called her a series of names, most of them revolving right back around to her being an ungrateful little shit, before he started insisting—more to himself than to her—that no army of tiny, orange, fuzzy little rodents could ever best _him_. 

Breha gazed at Artoo fondly. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

When the other primates started throwing fruit and mud as well, aim improving with practice, she had had enough. She stood to her full height, which really wasn’t that impressive, and turned to the offended creatures.

Still as the world beneath her feet, grounded and weightless and empty, Breha reached briefly within herself, barely skimming the surface of the currents swirling around her, and extended a tendril of herself out towards the rioting creatures.

She had barely so much as _brushed_ against their presence when they jerked to attention, forgetting about the poor droid to face her with a mix of confused yowls and warning calls. A few seconds more and they all turned in unison to disappear back to where they’d come from, eager to get away from the unsettling being.

Good. Nobody threw things at her friend.

*

An hour later and they were just about ready to depart. Having safely secured the precious cargo for which she’d come in the smugglers holds (just in case), Breha was having a brief rest, sitting on the edge of her ship and shaking gravel out of her boots.

The sounds of the day were dying down around her, the sun-dwellers preparing to find their ways home before dusk settled in.

Hopping down from her perch and back to the clearing, she took a few deep breaths before falling into a gentle pose, elongating her limbs to ease out the kinks she’d gotten from the climb. Breha flowed from that pose to another, then another, holding each for a steady few heartbeats. It was calming. She focused solely on her bare feet upon the dirt, of how the cool earth felt between her toes and how it shifted when she did.

Breha was as immovable as the planet itself, fluid only by her own blessing. 

Drinking deep of the atmosphere and allowing it to soak into her bones, so clean and pure and energizing, she declined to acknowledge the ache in her chest at the idea of leaving the solace of this world and instead moved to another stance, basking in the stretch along her biceps.

Artoo wheeled up beside her carrying a sample of the native plant life in his utility arm. He presented it to her view like a gift—something to lift her spirits. The size of a fist, the plant was three-leafed and spiky, reaching up like shards of glass, the centers a blood red before fading to a deep, dark green.

THIS ONE IS GOOD, he said.

“Yeah?” She poked at it briefly—it was definitely sturdy, and she had no doubt he had already run the necessary biological scans on it. She scooped up a handful of soil. “Alright. Give it here.”

He handed it over gingerly, before taking off to run last minute diagnostics on the ship.

Time to go, she supposed. There were things to do in the big, wide galaxy.

Without further ado she straightened and extended her free hand—summoning her boots to her —before making her way into the belly of the ship, exchanging the blinding vitality of the planet for the dark, familiar recesses of her tiny home.

*

The sun was just grazing the horizon went they broke atmo and left the planet of Tython behind, a green hunk of rock floating all by its lonesome in the vastness of space.

Tython had been entirely untouched by foreign hands for twelve millennia, a planet lost to the rest of the galaxy so long ago most had thought it a myth. Breha had been the one to find it again—not that she was about to tell anyone. And now she was saying goodbye.

The blackness of deep space rushed up to greet them like an old friend and she instantly relaxed. She was more settled. To her, there was almost no sight in the galaxy as comforting.

This was her place.

Breha had spent more of her life in this endless expanse of nothingness than she had on every planet she’d ever visited combined—the stars were guardians and her watchful protectors, the enveloping darkness the keeper of her secrets.

Sanctuary.

Artoo didn’t input the calculations to hyperspace immediately; instead, he allowed her those precious few moments to find her center before they were warped into the fabric of lightspeed. She was grateful, but they had already delayed too long in her opinion. She signaled him to make the jump.

Deep space ripped by them like pitch-black ink on a flimsi, replaced a moment later by the blinding brilliance of hyperspace. It would be a few hours until they reached their destination.

The two sat in companionable silence, Breha’s fingers interlocked tightly on her lap as though she were wary of separating them. Artoo had noticed she was avoiding the control levers. In fact, she had avoided touching anything on the control panel since take off. Odd.

The low droop of her eyelids alerted him to the biological needs of his person.

SLEEP. I’LL WAKE YOU BEFORE WE GET THERE.

Breha considered the idea. She didn’t want to sleep. She hadn’t readily gone to sleep in 15 years—too many things waited for her in unconsciousness. But she was nothing if not practical, and nothing if not constantly aware of her limits, so she reluctantly agreed.

Patting him on the head as she passed, ever confident in his abilities, she made her way to the back of the U-Wing. She had removed the crew seats many years ago for more ample space; the copilots seat had similarly been ripped from its station, and instead replaced with a complicated array of utility lifts, mag-locks, and charging portals so that Artoo could lock into position when necessary—as he was now.

Her hammock hung in the back next to a small, exposed panel which housed a series of shelves. They were jam-packed with plants of all kinds: short and stubby ones, frilly and extravagant ones, some of dull, earthen tones and others of colors and patterns so wild they could make you sick. The new addition Artoo had given her was there, too, tucked between the Corellian snake grass and the Felucian thunder pods. She had thanked it for coming along, and promised it would be well taken care of.

Breha didn’t bother with changing—there was never any point—she merely fell into the makeshift bed. She wrapped herself in a dark brown robe—nearly black—meant for a man twice her size and rather itchy. Decades old grease and mechanics oil still stained the thing, but she didn’t care. That was part of why she treasured it so much. She let sleep take her.

*

Her dreams that night were more disturbed than normal.

Visions of white-clad stormtroopers and twisting spartan hallways danced to the beat of heavy combat boots. Orders from on high, the time had finally come. They were gathering. Preparing. Endless masses of white illuminated with a terrible, scarlet blaze of fire as their spirits soared—they were invincible. They were _righteous_.

White on white on red, stormtroopers in the snow.

The scene shifted. A black room. One she was familiar with. Her-room-but-not-her-room. She was _in_ that room, crying out into the dark desperately. _Where are you?_

The room collapsed into nothingness as bright sandstone flew past her, faster and faster and faster, looking out to the ship next to hers, racing faster, true joy filling her for the first time in months as he smiled too, the last smile she ever got.

And then came the grey and the rain. Always the rain. Thundering and overwhelming and changing. Hands, reaching for her, eager for one last embrace that would never come. Too stubborn, too prideful. Guilty eyes boring into her but unmoving in their decision. Pain, pain, and more pain. More rain, more pain, drowning in it all.

Everything spun and the room of black was back—this time with a presence. _His_ presence. _My_ presence. _Our_ presence. A bond as old as time and as familiar as truth. Desperation. Beckoning. Not beckoning. Beckoning again, needed help. No, _wait_.

A wall, and then no more room. No more black. No more _whole_.

Breha wanted to wake up. It hurt too much.

Instead she dreamt of green. Dark green, baby green, green from memories long past but green all too new—fresh and wonderous and _loud_. Never had there been so much green. So much to see, so much to hear and touch and taste. Fear and red came too, hot on the heels of the new. She saw a face. _Her_ face, the one she saw every time she closed her eyes. Young and fresh, older now than it’d been when she’d—

It was contorted in pain. She was scared. Fear and dread and _I am so, so dead. Please don’t kill me._

And then nothing.

Darkness. Silence.

Floating in the vast emptiness of space, weightless. Drifting like ash on the wind. Still. Silent.

Until the screams.

The dying screams of trillions, piercing and heart-rending—terror and love and panic and then terror again. Desperation, screaming, crying, it wouldn’t stop. The screaming wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t wake up. She was there with them as they were disintegrated, turned to ash in an instant, felt their flesh burning and their eyes turn to molten lava in their sockets, the pain, the pain—

Quiet.

No more voices, no more screaming. Not a one.

Just black. Just nothing.

She fought and fought and fought for an escape. She cried into the dark. She was alone. She was so alone, _where were the others,_ where was Ben and Papa and—

A voice. Just one, a voice in the absence of others, trying to claw its way its way through her walls with the gentle lap of water against stone.

 _Wake up, Bree. Come to me_.

No.

She threw up her barriers, and then she was awake in the confines of her U-Wing, convulsing violently on the floor.

Artoo was next to her, bleeping at her frantically, trying his best to help but also trying not to make it worse. Breha’s body twisted and jerked in a horrendous fashion, alarm bells echoing shrilly around her as she fought to regain control of her limbs—and her sense.

No. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t have happened.

A whole system—gone. A whole system obliterated. All those lives…

Sweat drenching her person, she just barely managed to roll over in time not to choke on her own vomit. Unfortunately, that meant it ended up painting Artoo’s legs.

The droid barely registered the sick, so consumed was he with worry. Everything had been just fine till she started screaming. The force of her reaction to the nightmare, or to whatever it was she had just experienced, had shaken and thrown the ship clear out of hyperspace and shot off every alarm they had. If his mag-locks hadn’t been activated, he might’ve been flung clear through the transparisteel.

What had she seen?

Breha remained on the floor, tremors racking her body, embracing the cool of the metal against her forehead as Artoo cooed at her gently.

She struggled with herself. It wasn’t supposed to be now, she tried to make herself believe. She was supposed to have more time to get everything in place, her heart insisted. It couldn’t mean now. But perhaps that had just been wishful thinking on her part; aware as she might be, she was only human, and still preferred the odds to be overwhelmingly stacked in her favor before she struck.

But now was the time. Time to come out of the shadows. It was calling to her.

She knew when to be unrelenting…and she knew when to yield.

“Change of plans,” she rasped, struggling to be heard over the din.

Her will was simply not going to be.

The Force had other plans for Breha Organa-Solo. It always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major kudos to anyone who managed that mammoth in a single sitting! Feel free to hit up my tumblr @candlewisps if you wanna talk :)


	2. The Archives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLJ did such a number on my mental health and love for SW that I've only now been able to finish editing Chapter 2. Enjoy!

“I’ll contact Besh and let him know to expect you. If you don’t make it in a few days he’ll come looking for you,” Breha said, rerouting auxiliary power manually to the sensor-jamming smuggling compartments. Just in case. She didn’t want the preservation pods to risk exposure.

Artoo beeped in confirmation. DO YOU WANT US TO ALERT DORN?

“No need. I’ll do it myself when I’m out.” Whether being ‘out’ meant the city officials released her from prison or she escaped…well, she’d play it by ear.

She stood to gaze beyond the viewport, letting the soothing sight of hyperspace wash over her.

It had been just over an hour since her fit. She had been able to calm her mental faculties within minutes, training taking over as she righted herself into functioning capacity. Breha had spared a few minutes to absorb and dissect all she had experienced, unwanted as it was, while Artoo had done a systems sweep to make sure the violence of her reaction hadn’t done lasting damage. To their combined pride, her U-Wing was a tough old bird.

Once she’d been able to speak, they had changed course immediately for the much closer Core World of Kuat— at their hyperdrive speed it wouldn’t take them more than an hour to get there. While they waited to arrive, ship humming contentedly on auto pilot, Breha had cleaned up her mess and relayed everything relevant to Artoo: the destruction of Hosnian Prime and much of the New Republic’s governing body along with it, the First Order officially out of the shadows, the attack on Takodana.

She kept the rest to herself.

Artoo had listened in silence, lights occasionally flashing as he began to understand the change in priorities: with what had been the major source of the New Republics military power destroyed—infinitesimal though it was compared to days long passed— the First Order would have their sights set on Kuat soon enough. It might even be their next priority. They needed to get what they were after from the planet before it was in First Orders hands, destroyed, or simply bogged down in a frenzy while the New Republic sought to maintain their hold.

The samples would just have to wait.

He had continued listening as she laid out the new plan, too: trespassing, grand theft, deception, capture on her part—the works.

Artoo had listened and agreed with relish—until she got to the last part.

He had always trusted her to know what she was doing and had always trusted that she had a plan, be it logical, hair-brained, or damn near suicidal. But after what had just happened to Hosnian, and her little, uh, _episode_ , there were too many unknowns in the equation that just didn’t stack in their favor if they were to separate.

But he had agreed nonetheless.

Positive the preservation pods had enough power and shielding to keep running undetected for weeks, Breha moved to the communications console and busied herself with the message to Besh. It was short and to the point, with an all clear she wouldn’t be in pressing danger, but Breha knew he’d probably be miffed by her plan anyways.

She looked up when the proximity alarm went off as they dropped out of hyperspace; they were coming up on their destination.

Good.

She finished up the message quickly, ran it through their encryption codes, and sent it off into the fabric of space before joining Artoo at the control console to watch as the target of their mission bled into sight.

The planet of Kuat in and of itself wasn’t all that remarkable—it was more technologically advanced than most planets and its wealth was evident, but it had nothing in the way of natural beauty or exotic experiences that might draw the adventurous. It was adequately sized, with an adequate climate, adequate ecosystems, and adequate resources.

On its own, Kuat was nothing special.

But what truly made the planet unique and irreplaceable, and indeed what its reputation stood for, was the Kuat Drive Yards that encircled the entirety of the planet like a great ring, precariously hanging above atmosphere. An approaching ship from far out might mistake the ring for a natural occurrence, space dust and debris simply drawn in over billions of years—but once one got closer, and they began to pick out structures and lights and ships flocking to and from the ring like birds to a branch, the reality of what they were seeing would set in and be enough to drop a jaw.

The Drive Yards were a testament to the raw ingenuity of sentient life: they’d been built millennia upon millennia ago for the purpose of manufacturing larger and larger ships, those ships which would be more or less impossible to get off the ground once they had been completed planet-side.

In its lifetime, the behemoth had seen through the construction of hundreds of thousands of ships, cultivating its status as _the_ number one destination for big-time clients with substantial military contracts. Indeed, the Yards could and did boast among its clientele the likes of the Old Republic, the Empire, the Confederacy of Systems—and even that was just a slice. They did everything from heavy bulk freighters, Class A passenger liners, and pleasure cruisers for the rich. For the past two decades, the planet and her manufacturing giant had been a thriving member of the New Republic; given its invaluable status, however, that may be about to change.

“What’ve you got, buddy?” She didn’t bother turning from the view as she asked, knowing he had already initiated a wide-sensor stealth sweep of the planet, and she didn’t bother opening herself to the swell and grief of the planet to see first hand. Despair was not a mystery.

He chirped back at her and she nodded, placing a gentle hand on his domed head.

It was the reaction they’d expected: sensors and alarms at full alert, battle stations and what few warships they had primed and ready to go. No approaching First Order ships and nothing imminent that tugged at the back of her mind.

Breha gave a silent sigh of relief and retreated back to the storage holds.

Despite being the draw for many galactic sightseers, the Drive Yards was not the destination for which they had come. Instead they flew right past the hive of activity toward the planet itself, making for its capitol and their objective: the Grand Archival Vaults of Kuat City.

They would be passing a stationary probe soon and she needed to choose a cover for this go-round. Her fingers acted on autopilot as they located the hidden hold next to the loading bay doors with ease, pushing and shifting the otherwise solid metal plating into its correct configuration before it slid open with a hiss.

Ignoring the other immediate valuables, she flipped through her many identicards, looking for one she hadn’t used in a while and would be most complimentary to their current assets. Picking one, she resealed the hold with a pop.

“We’re going with Ina this time, Artoo,” she called, doing her best to work out the kink in her neck before dragging one of the crates in the corner to the center of the transport.

Artoo gave a low whistle of acknowledgment as he filtered through their ID codes to find the right one to broadcast for the officials, and to any nearby probes that might catch on.

He voiced his concerns as he did so. ‘ARE YOU POSITIVE YOU WANT ME TO GO DIRECTLY TO BESH? WE CAN LEAVE TOGETHER.’

“Positive, buddy,” she answered, her voice muffled as she began to lean into a stretch. “If they have their eyes on me in interrogation they won’t be watching the ports as hard. You can just sneak by.”

He whined indignantly.

“No, we can’t rely on it being that easy. Besides, a few hours could mark the difference between an easy out for you or the First Order arriving and then we’d both be stuck here for who knows how long.” Breha came out of the stretch, rolling her neck as she did so. “I’m not about to risk this data just to avoid a couple weeks in a cell.” That was assuming the planet remained out of the First Orders hands that long.

But that was beside the point.

The likelihood of Artoo’s success if Kuat’s security forces were focused on her was guaranteed. The likelihood of their success if she broke out of detainment too soon was an illogical risk; besides, there was something else she wanted to see.

‘I DON’T LIKE IT.’

“I know you don’t.”

‘I’M WORRIED. WHAT IF YOU HAVE ANOTHER ATTACK?’

Breha tried for a smile to put him at ease. “I’ll be fine, Artoo. You’ll be fine.”

The moment was interrupted by a voice coming over their comms: “ ** _Aster Tide_ _ **,** you have been cleared to enter Kuat space. Proceed to Western Port Beta, landing pad 27-A._** ”

From her place on the floor Breha slapped a trigger on the wall next to her. “Acknowledged,” she said, and flipped it off.

She waited for Artoo to input the trajectory and initiate the landing sequence, rising to her feet near the loading doors and giving a last minute check to the smugglers holds, before continuing. “It’s just two weeks Artoo. If anything happens I’ll get out of it myself and send you a signal, yeah? I always do.”

Artoo remained silent as he disengaged from the mag locks to make his way to her, the _Aster Tide_ sailing smooth on her projected course, but a subtle rocking motion back and forth on his tractors indicated he’d be fine. Eventually. It was merely the unknown that concerned him, not her competence.

Shut down sequences and stealth shielding for the smuggling compartments long in place, they waited side by side before the loading doors.

Standard entry procedure on a world like this dictated that all unknown entities not associated with the governing bodies of Kuat, its allies, or its business ventures, be met by a team of law enforcement agents to inspect the validity of said presence and ensure the safety of the planet and its citizens.

It was just one more hoop to jump through, but one they could, and had, complete a million times before.

Their welcome team was likely already assembled, and it should only be a few minutes before they were through, out, and off on their way to—

“Wait”, she said suddenly. “Take ‘im with you.”

It had become so easy to forget its presence, to differentiate it as something “other” to her, having so long been a piece of her daily makeup.

Breha reached behind her where it rested, secure, against the small of her back. She wrapped her long fingers around the familiar weight, its long cylindrical form and fiery will as much a part of her as any limb she possessed, and pulled it free of the straps holding it in place.

A hatch on Artoo’s head split open, ready for safekeeping.

She found it, as she so often did, glued steadfast to her hand. It didn’t want to let go.

Breha was very aware as it broiled with anger—she was handing it over to the care of the One That Was Not Her. The droid was not worthy. The droid was not Breha. It resented the move and let her know it, arrogance clouded with desperation. Breha was loath to be parted from it as well, but she could also out-stubborn the whiny thing any day of the week. It knew it too, and eventually relented, allowing her to place it, displeased, in the opening.

Artoo shut and locked the hatch.

It seethed still, anger dripping from its heart. It hated being confined. It didn’t want the not-her. But passable compliance was enough.

Breha shook her head. “Clingy little shit…”

*

Breha waited an appropriate amount of time for the port officials outside to scan the ship and decide they weren’t an obvious threat. When she sensed the time was right, she hit the release for the loading door. It whined but slid open smoothly, Breha and Artoo greeted by a number of security officers with pistols on their hips and heavy blasters in their hands.

Four officers in total, they each had their weapons powered up and ready, hovering pointedly at her feet. It didn’t escape her notice that the close-range stunners of a typical security force had been swapped for their more lethal, heavy blaster cousins. Kuat City moved fast indeed.

“Whoa!” she feigned, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. Artoo did the same next to her, utility arm flailing. “Take it easy, fellas.”

One of the officers broke off from the rest to circle around her, blaster pointed at her chest while he scanned her person for weapons and other signs of threat. He found none. Dissatisfied, he edged toward Artoo and scanned him as well, nudging him with his boot. The droid wailed indignantly and threatened to chop off the offending foot. Satisfied the two beings before him weren’t an immediate threat—which he might reconsider if he understood binary—he inched into the belly of her U-Wing, alert for surprises.

Breha still had her hands up, but she cracked a smile she knew they’d interpret as genuine.

“Hell of a welcome party you guys have here. Do you do this for all the newbies or am I just special?” She joked, projecting innocence to its fullest.

They weren’t amused.

The one investigating the ship returned and nodded at the officer in charge. If she were to judge his body language, she’d have marked him as disappointed.

The lieutenant took a step forward. “Name and identification?”

“Ina. Ina Ihms,” she said as she handed over her identicard slowly, hands always in sight for their comfort. He swept her card over his datapad and began to scrutinize the results.

“Purpose of your visit here today?”

The lieutenant’s voice was monotonous and his words rung with tired repetition, just standard protocol after all, but his throbbing temple and white-knuckled grip on the datapad said he was paying more attention than he let on.

“Selling and trading. I had a contract with the materials sourcer of Gadellan Inc. for a shipment of terenthium and songsteel and, well…slimy bastard tried to cheat me, so I’m lookin’ for a new buyer.” Two of the officers broke off to inspect the validity of the crate she gestured to as evidence, poking around the contents; the third remained behind his commander, gun leveled between her torso and the floor. “Hopin’ to find an interested party down the Seven Steels way, if anyone could point me in the right direction.”

The officer made a noncommittal hum as he inspected every corner of her creds, looking for any hint of falsification or forgery. He wouldn’t find any. She could’ve made a flawless counterfeit in her sleep by the time she was eight.

Allowing him the time he needed to scrutinize her docs, Breha pretended to look around as though it was her first time here, a look of wonder plastered on her face. It was much the same as her last visit, though far gloomier—the air of tense anticipation and fear married well with the cloudy grey of the season. Skyscrapers of intrusive stature and heavy freighters bound for the Drive Yards were more advanced than the majority of planets in the galaxy, paling in comparison only to the likes of worlds like Coruscant. Come to think of it, it smelled much better than her last trip. A recent rain must have washed away the worst of the stench, for which she was grateful.

But where the city normally boomed with vitality it was now still, an animal retreated into its cave.

She didn’t have to wonder why they didn’t fill her in on the destruction of the Hosnian System, as clueless as she hoped they’d found her to be. She knew why. It was the type of news no sentient ever wanted to break to another. Where did one even start? Better to let her find out from someone else, as long as that someone else wasn’t them. They had their own demons to come to terms with over the fact.

The lead officer gave a frustrated sigh as he all but thrust her identicard back into her hands. Having found nothing out of the ordinary, he was forced to allow her entry at a time when he really would’ve preferred to keep anyone not a citizen far out of atmospheric range.

But she was just one person: what harm could their be?

“You’re free to go,” he said, the words clearly difficult. The other officers retreated from her possessions as well.

Breha winked at the man. “My thanks, good sir.”

Artoo took charge of their “cargo” once Breha had it loaded onto a nearby, public-use anti-grav sled, the astromech using his mag-line to pull it along behind him.

As their minute gathering prepared to part ways, the officer in charge glared at them one final time and gave her the sternest warning of which she was sure he thought himself capable. “No funny business, you understand? We run a tight ship here and I don’t want to hear you’ve been sticking your nose places it doesn’t belong and causing trouble. Just finish your business and leave. I’ll remember your face if I need to, got it Missy?”

Breha smiled.

“Aww, me? I doubt it. You’re going to forget a plain old face like mine just as soon as I’m out of sight.”

She waved a farewell, nodding to the officers, before she and Artoo walked away to the low, monotonous chant of, _“We’re going to forget a plain face old face like yours just as soon as you’re out of sight.”_

*

They ditched the container of terenthium and songsteel as soon as they found a good place to hide it—inside the lining of a recycling chute in one of the more deserted sides of town, mag-locks holding it securely in place above the active metal grinders. It may have been just for show, but those were still priceless metals in there and they could be fetched back on the way off-world if necessary. They would slow them down for now, but one didn’t just throw away that many potential credits for nothing.

The next few hours were spent wandering mindlessly throughout the city, from one end to the other, doubling back and retracing their paths when they felt it necessary. Breha was confident her stealth-jammers would have the desired affect on the City’s surveillance systems, all they had do was lay down the necessary foot work.

At one point they found themselves two avenues down from their target, the Archival Vaults, having diverted their aimless trek to take stock of the situation they were likely to face.

Breha stretched out her senses, allowing it all to flood in like water through a broken dam. She began to filter through the mass of impressions and beings brushing against her, tightening her mental perimeter to encompass just the surrounding blocks. A full picture was beginning to form

On their way in she had put together the likely outcome for how the destruction of the Hosnian System would affect the reshuffling of their security forces: if Kuat expected an attack, which they should, they would send the essential resources and defensive staff to protect their most valuable asset, the Drive Yards. Only a splinter crew would be left for the likes of the governing and judicial bodies, spaceports, and the Archive itself. Though not entirely abandoned, the Vaults should be minimally manned, with the otherwise standard security measures still in place.

Searching out and piecing together what she could from relevant people—a sentry guard here, a maintenance tech there—Breha wanted to see if her projected line of rationale translated into execution.

It did.

Regardless, their entry ticket would not be here. She had another way in.

Satisfied there wouldn’t be any surprises once they got inside, they resumed their traipse about the city, slipping in and out of the various commercial and residential districts as their path became murkier and the sun reached its zenith.

When the time for that was done and they’d muddied their path as much as could be expected, the two found themselves across the way from Kuat’s leading coolant refinery, crouched low behind a parked speeder and examining the best way inside.

It was a large building: broad and grey and short but for the four large vents that towered eight stories above ground level. Two guards were stationed at every standard entrance and exit, five at the loading bay, with patrol droids roaming the paths in between. Standard holocams hugged the sides of the building and its surrounding streets.

And that was it.

Artoo’s sensor read revealed they had no forces or drones on the roof, figuring that whoever was dumb enough to steal from a government-subsidiary wouldn’t be able to successfully smuggle that much coolant through the venting systems.

‘ _Idiots_ ’, she thought, as she and Artoo backtracked and climbed onto the roof of a building two alleys down. Two perfectly timed jumps later, the latter to avoid roaming patrols below, and they landed safely on the refinery’s roof before making their way to one of the vent structures—detection safely averted.

Breha gazed up at the lone service ladder to the top of the vent. This one was not spouting steam like two of the others, which meant it, and its southern counterpart, were the cooling vents.

She looked at Artoo. “You want to take point on this one? Or do you want to go for a little ride?”

Her friend was still a moment, scanning something, before he rocked back and forth lightly with an informative warble: ‘THEY HAVE TEMPERATURE GAUGES EVERY TEN METERS.’

A ride, then. “Any surveillance on the inside?”

She received a negative.

‘ ** _Idiots_** ’, she thought again, amazed, as she began to climb the service ladder. Artoo waited patiently at the bottom.

On the one hand, they were right: anyone stealing coolant here would have a hell of a time getting it out in any way that wasn’t bribery—the volatile nature of their particular mixture required casing two feet thick and a weight easily exceeding a ton per container. No subtlety about it.

On the other hand, their arrogance and lack of conviction in the determination of others made them lazy and unprepared for innovative individuals.

If Kuat as it was managed to escape the wrath of the First Order—which was doubtful—she might just come back some day and relieve them of their supply just for the hell of it.

As it was, they weren’t here for coolant.

Reaching the top of the cooling vent, Breha wrapped her legs and one arm firmly around the ladder, before stretching her mind down to wrap around the little droid far below. The whites of his paint job gleamed in the high sun as he rose slowly, marks and gouges in his finish only appearing as she drew him closer.

Not for the last time, Breha wished she could treat his exterior to more than a dust-and-clean on a regular basis—he always preened and strutted about with pride afterwards—but the realities of their travels negated such luxuries. Still, she promised herself, she’d get him at least a polish soon.

Artoo chirped a greeting as he floated to eye level, perfectly content to relax as she did all the heavy lifting. He’d be doing his fair sure soon enough.

Swinging herself and Artoo’s metal mass over the rim of the vent, they began the long descent into the center of the refinery. The droid might have used his boosters to lower himself, but the shaft was designed to bring cool air down and a localized heat source that high would set off the temperature gauges he’d said they had.

Keeping a channel of focus on Artoo’s descent at all times, the astromech warbling nonsensically to himself, they made it down a full ten stories before finding what they could use: an emergency escape hatch, big enough to fit them both, which her senses informed her let out into a service passageway.

After ensuring he was set safely behind her and ready to follow along, Breha made her way along the dark, damp passageway, the glow from Artoo’s photoreceptors the only source of light. It was probably twenty or so meters before they reached the end.

Breha paused a moment to listen and feel for any sign of activity on the other end.

Nothing.

She waited a few moments more to ensure they truly would not be discovered before popping the door into release, rust on the hinges giving tell to how long it had been since it had seen use. It opened directly into a series of hallways on the second basement level, a few feet off the floor. Breha lowered the astromech quietly beside her, closing and relocking the hatch.

They moved through the passages slowly, audioreceptors and senses peeled, in search of an access terminal Artoo could patch into. It didn’t take them long. Nestled in a recessed section of the wall to avoid hindering traffic, the port allowed Artoo to pull up building schematics and search for their destination.

Finding the Inspection and Processing Wing was easy for Artoo as he let out an excited string of chirps: one floor up on the foremost basement level and two sub-sections to the east. A single service lift and seven connections through the passageways would leave them golden, so off they went.

For the most part, the corridors were uncomfortably deserted. The absence of typical refinery hustle and bustle made sense; it had been a good few hours since what had happened to the Hosnian System, and all non-essential personnel would have been let go to be with their families if they’d asked. Kuat and Hosnian Prime were both Core Worlds essential to the function of the New Republic and as such shared a close, though sometimes ambivalent, relationship.

Well, _had_.

The only people left now were those vital to completing the current days operations. Well, and the droids. They passed a few of them in the halls, hurrying to and from the various sub-wings on errands. Most paid no attention to them, busy with their own duties, and those that did spare them a second glance moved along after Artoo told them this was a surprise inspection—which they bought. They worked in manufacturing, not security. If the astromech with higher programming said it was an inspection then it was none of their business.

It only helped them reach their destination faster.

Inspection and Processing was a division with a dozen little branches all its own, every branch meant to succeed to the next in line through a system of crosschecks and red tape. The branch they were after was the next to last, reserved for final appraisal and allocation.

Where this subdivision would normally be manned by at least four techs, there was now only one. The foreman, a near-human woman, had volunteered to take the shift solo so her coworkers could see to the needs of themselves and their families. She was stretched to her capacity, hungry and tired and stressed beyond measure, but was glad to do it—she had lost no people.

It was with a growling belly, and the very sudden and very insistent thought that she ought to grab something to eat right this very moment, that she exited the room. Surely standard meal times did not apply today?

Artoo and Breha slipped through the door before it closed behind her.

The room was smaller than expected, dedicated only to containment units ready to be shipped out, with a low ceiling, tight walls, and pale yellow lighting that made the whole scene feel constricted. Dozens of coolant containers lined the space in neat little rows, ready for final approval. Along the back of the room was a recess in the wall; a plaque next to it indicated it was for backup containment units. It was only partly filled.

Finding the six bins meant for the Archives took no time at all, thanks to the refinery’s organized system.

Using the gifts at her fingertips, Breha reached out to lift the last of the containers from its place in line on the transport bed. She kept an eye on it as it lifted off, careful not to slam the two-ton thing into anything else, and backed her way through the bins and along the walls to the alcove. Breha let it come to rest there, nestled snuggly among the back-up units. It took some finessing, but Artoo was able to remove the sealed identchip on its side and place it on the corresponding spot of the empty unit next to it. She took reverse control of the second bin and maneuvered it gently to the vacated spot on the transport, popping the sealing lid on its side.

After Artoo was safely lowered inside and she was satisfied they left no immediate trace, Breha climbed in to join her friend, sealing and locking the lid behind them with a light hiss.

A few minutes later the foreman reentered the room to finish her work. Breha relaxed in the dark and followed her movements closely as she went from unit to unit, scanning their identchips and checking the sealing mechanisms on all of them for tampering. When she got to their bin, Breha carefully brushed against the glow of her consciousness—yes, she _had_ in fact already checked this unit, and yes, things _were_ in perfect working order.

The foreman hesitated a moment before moving on with a shrug. No need to check something she had already checked.

Within a few minutes they were off, transport bed collected by the delivery team. The industrial sector wasn’t far from the Archives, so the trek across the City took no more than an easy fifteen minutes; in almost no time at all, and safely disguised in their coolant unit, they were through the Archives’ “flawless” security system and deep in the belly of its critical functions.

As soon as her senses indicated they were alone in some sort of storage room Breha unlocked the lid and climbed out, Artoo behind her. Replacing it, she did a quick once over of her surroundings: not too dissimilar from the space they’d just left, row upon row of neatly lined and stacked coolant units, but the lighting was more tolerable and the room broader.

They found the nearest internal port in the room and Artoo patched himself in. Having already memorized the most efficient way to their destination with the least likely chance of crossing sentient life, Artoo began to loop the surveillance feeds of the hallways they’d be using. He timed them to return to real-time sequentially, with a small cushion based on their personal patterns of non-suspicious walking gaits.

Out in the hallways, it was clear just how understaffed the Archives were as well. They had only two near-encounters on their journey, one a human and one a Nikto, but with a simple idea that _maybe_ they would much rather go left than right, and that _maybe_ there was a hole in their boot that needed to be checked out immediately, they were easily avoided and made good time.

The two guards at the door to the Vault took a little more convincing. Breha had to resort to knocking over a whole row of replacement static filters the next hallway opposite before they temporarily left their post to check it out.

Good for them to take it upon themselves to check for danger in this very dangerous time; stupid of them to ever abandon their post.

It took Artoo a good few moments of finagling at the guard station to convince the door code to let them in, but the astromech had always had a way with machines—after as many decades as he’d experienced in this gods-forsaken galaxy, there was really no system Artoo couldn’t overhaul to his own devices.

In the end, it too fell to his mastery: they were out of the hallway and into the plunging black of the Vault itself.

They hovered at the door a few minutes more—waited in the dark, silent and still, long enough to convince themselves that the scare for alarms had passed. Satisfied Artoo had done his job as flawlessly as he always did, they continued into the belly of the beast.

To the inexperienced, the Archives of Kuat City was truly something to behold.

Row upon row of hard data files and infobanks stretched on for countless miles before they vanished into the dark, the uniformity broken by navigation terminals set every mile or so. The only source of light to be found came from faint green illumination rods fixated to the floor, laying out the paths that could be taken. The sickly glow of the never-ending chamber, combined with a silence so complete that Breha could hear her own blood pulse beneath her skin, was oppressive and unwelcome.

The two made their way ever deeper into the black, covering at least two miles before they finally found an infocache that would work well for their first priorities. The small viewscreen preceding the section read:

**-Arrivals and Departures: Cruiser Class Vessels—16 ABY to 17 ABY-**

It would do. It was vague, yet interesting enough and within the right timeframe to cast genuine curiosity about any criminal intent.

A quick look and a confirmation from Artoo later, Breha shrugged off her coat and let it drop to the floor, marking their chosen location, before they continued on, on, and ever on into the bowels of the dark place. It took them three times as long to find the true source and purpose of their presence, Artoo letting out an excited series of beeps and whirs as they came to a stop before the section in front of them.

It looked exactly like the thousands of rows that had come before it, but she knew different. She knew _better_.

Breha allowed herself a moment of pure, unadulterated loathing, letting it fill her all the way to her toes. It felt good. It felt _righteous_. Then she buried it to a point beyond distraction but as useful fuel for focus.

Glancing at the sign for the terminal, her eyes narrowed. “We’ll need more than this,” she said, glancing at the half dozen surrounding depots in thought. “This is only from 3 to 4 ABY.” Artoo released a set of questioning coo’s. “Agreed. You should go back at least a decade more. Two to be on the safe side.”

She ran her gloved hand along the smooth, shiny black of the steel banks. It might’ve been slippery and hard to track down, but now that they had found the other part of the encryption it wouldn’t escape her. Breha was going to take what she needed.

Ready to get on with it, she kneeled before her companion.

“Should we go over the plan once more?” she asked, more to acknowledge his own discomfort than any real need to reiterate.

He responded by barraging her with a series of prideful-yet-insulted remarks, even throwing name-calling in there once or twice to drive his point home. Artoo got it; he just hated it and wanted it over with.

Breha leaned forward on the balls of her feet and placed a hand upon his domed head. Artoo beeped himself to silence, finished. They sat there in the dark for a moment, reassured in the others’ presence. This was going to be…unfavorable, to say the least. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been parted for so long and though she knew they’d both be just fine, it didn’t mean she had to like the journey there. Nor did he.

They would miss each other.

She could feel _it_ , too, under where her hand rested on Artoo’s shiny exterior, radiating with displeasure and stubborn hubris even as it tried to draw her back into reconsidering, into taking it with her. Whiny, whiny, whiny.

Breha stood firmly and gave Artoo a loving, gentle pat. “I’ll give you a thank you kiss once you come rescue me,” she quipped, turning quickly to leave before it got harder. “And make sure your comm is on!” she shouted back over her shoulder, “I don’t wanna’ have to walk the length of this nightmare one more time than I have to.”

Artoo threw a scathing, affectionate insult at her retreating form. His mechanical words were swallowed by the dark, as was she, as Breha made her way back toward the entrance of this abyss.

*

Even at her brisk pace it was a long walk, so Breha passed the time by running over the fine details of the plan.

Kuat may have placed most of their monetary value and protection on the Drive Yards, but their steps to safeguard information kept in the vaults was hardly overlooked.

Their outer security had been easy enough for them to bypass, but pulling the data from the info-banks themselves was always where the problem lie. There was no way to do it without detection. But just because _they_ wouldn’t escape detention didn’t mean _one_ of them couldn’t. The specific measures the city had set in place were a double-edged sword if—thanks to some well-placed credits and a reliable source—you knew what to prepare for. Weaknesses were sprinkled everywhere.

A fully isolated system surrounded by thirty meters of solid ferrocrete on each side, the Archival Vault was more an exercise in how to get _out_ than stay in. The isolation and sensor-dampening fields reinforced in the walls were necessitated, two-fold, by the sheer volume of info-banks used to store their data. One, the banks themselves gave off so much radiation that additional energy sources nearby were bound to make the system go haywire. Two, such an isolated system made the data impenetrable from the outside, and as such impervious to remote access, sabotage, slicers, outlying viruses, or power outages. Any data to and from the Vault had to be carried out.

Because the overall energy and heat generated by the containment banks was enough to require a city’s worth of coolant, the Vault was kept in its constant state of near-total darkness to help ease the cooling process; the only source of light was that generated by the glow-rods at her feet. This, too, was a weakness that worked in their favor: with such visual impairment, the Vault didn’t bother using stationary or holocams to record those inside. Instead, they used an infrared motion-scanner to track the movement of those inside, and otherwise relied on the cams they had installed throughout the rest of the facility to catch perpetrators—which Artoo had rendered moot. More to their favor, the infrared sensors meant to detect them would be taxed enough as it was trying to distinguish Breha’s signature from the heat of the databanks that they would never stand a chance registering Artoo.

There was _one_ problem they wouldn’t be able to avoid.

All of the databanks, including their individual sensor array and alarm systems, were integrated into a single detection-deadlock network—that all went off at once in the event of a breach. The alert was announced immediately to outer defenses through a single buried hardline that made its way directly to the Head of Security, which in turn would automatically ping Kuat City Defense Forces.

Normal protocol for Senators, manufacturers, and other wealthy higher-ups to enter the Archives involved a lengthy process of submitting an official request, to both the security and tech teams, for extraction—including exactly _what_ they were after, exactly _when_ they wished to make said extraction, and exactly _how much_ they wished to extract. It was a game of bureaucratic run-arounds designed to exhaust an individual to the point of giving up.

The value and necessity of such information kept inside, as well as the worth of maintaining it when it was so troublingly inaccessible, was a debate among many.

But not to her. And it hadn’t been to Emperor Palpatine when he had the measures installed

Regardless, and try as she might, Breha had never been able to locate the hardline on any schematics or find someone with a tongue that tended to wag. If she had more time, or if this had been the most pressing matter the past few years, then maybe. As it was, she didn’t have the time to search all 200 square miles for the damn thing, and certainly not the means to dig it up or disable it without risking another alarm.

Since they couldn’t beat the system, they’d just have to trick it.

Breha and Artoo were both armed with the same datadisk, and once they were inserted into their respective banks the alarm would be triggered and security would be on them in a matter of minutes. Well, they’d be onto her, anyways. The initial breach would release a time and location stamp of said intrusion, but once Artoo was fully integrated into the system he could wipe the marker of his secondary location in seconds. Timed to a nanosecond of each other, and with a second breach seemingly unregistered, it would appear as though Breha was the sole infiltrator.

It wasn’t foolproof or flawless, but with Artoo’s skills it would take even the best slicer a day or two to notice the adjustment in their code.

As for the rest, Breha would make sure other security variables were stacked in their favor. Once security was inside they would use what means they had to box her in on her registered location while someone else went over the infrared scanners to search for accomplices—which would come up negative. Confident she was alone, Breha would be their sole objective, and until she allowed them to catch her she was going to keep them too busy to worry about anything else. Undermanned as the City now was, they didn’t have the means for a full protocol sweep unless later given a reason to believe she was not acting alone. By the time they finished their chase, Breha had exhausted Interrogation to the point of madness, and they again pulled the bodies to cover protocol, Artoo would be long gone.

Consequence of this plan: she might be in lock up for a good two weeks before Artoo made it back for her. Not that it was much of a consequence; she would be fed and have a warm place to sleep at night, which was more than many in this galaxy got.

After Kuat officials got frustrated with her lack of forthcoming, standard protocol for a crime like this would normally be to send her to the center of the New Republic proper to receive judgment. Given that center no longer existed, they would be forced to hold her themselves, giving Artoo an easy way to find her.

Breha could escape on her own after the astromech was safely away with the data, she knew. There would be no need to waste away in a cell. And bouncing early was something she wouldn’t discount: if unforeseen circumstances demand she leave sooner, she would; if she needed a ship to make a getaway she’d steal one; and if the First Order arrived she would do what was necessary to avoid detection.

But for now, two weeks in the heart of Kuat’s judicial block was right where she wanted to be. As of today, there was probably no place better to glean the inner machinations of the fragmented New Republic and potential First Order movements. Breha would get more insight here than anything she would be able to glean from rumors on the holonet, what with the things people kept in their heads. There was always value in knowing what the new hierarchy would be, and in knowing which senior officials had survived to pull together an emergency government.

Besides, if she stayed, any individuals who’d been left behind to safeguard the information they were about to steal might make themselves known—and she was always interested in people like that.

No, she was happy to stick with the pla—

White-hot pain lanced through her, like she’d just been dipped into a pool of fresh magma.

Her vision dulled even as her chest seized and her legs threatened to give way beneath her, hands flying to her skull to stop it from exploding.

It felt as though someone had bottled lightning and released it, free and savage and unyielding, to run wild across the planes of her mind. A scream she might have otherwise worried would give them away was lodged tight in her throat, overborn by training and sheer strength of will.

Breha tried to take stock of her situation, to maneuver and fold some semblance of control into the moment to find her bearings, to search for an attacker.

But Breha wasn’t in the Archives anymore—she wasn’t _anywhere_. She was untethered, spinning wildly, formless, and the only thing tangible was fear.

Fear and pain.

But neither was hers.

Not directly.

They were the hers-but-not-hers of her existence, the most constant companion experienced in her thirty-year span.

But this time they were different. They were more.

She took a knee, and let it happen.

He was reeling: unhinged, anchor lost, spiraling in bewilderment as he tried to find his bearings—tried to figure out just how his intentions had backfired so spectacularly to leave him open, exposed, to this mere _scavenger_. Rattled, he was reaching for Breha by instinct even as he pulled back from her just as harshly, reaching for her once again as only his most inborn sense of safety could be responsible for.

Try as he might to flee from it, his conscious desire was thwarted by instinct and hardwiring at every turn.

Breha forced air into her lungs, aiming for deep, measured breaths as she fingered the cool ferrocrete beneath her.

He wasn’t alone, either. He was joined by another dancing at the edge of Breha’s mental periphery, a mind far less focused and far more confused but just as unintentional in presence, ragged with inexperience.

That was the _more_ she had sensed. The combination of the double-pronged attack was the source of this hurricane of feeling, and Breha was caught smack in the middle.

The familiar-but-rarely-touched third mind of said scavenger was drowning, utterly overcome by the swirling tide she had stepped into. She was fighting desperately against those things which she didn’t understand, fighting to stay afloat with this newfound ability and strange turn of events, utterly unaware of the result of what’d just taken place between her and her captor and she was still so frightened and the pain was not as bad now but it still— _what was that? That…presence?_

Breha backed away, quickly.

It was enough to avoid detection, sufficient control back in her grasp to slip through the girl’s comprehension like water through a nuna-net.

There was a moment more where the girl searched…but whatever it had been was gone and she was right back in her determination to give this monster **_nothing_**. The embattled parties found themselves out of their depth, both rough in their attempts to claim the upper hand—he who would have otherwise claimed victory was so thrown with surprise he was struggling to maintain his footing.

There was so much…hurt. For both of them. For Breha, too.

She slowly allowed her barriers to strengthen as she made her way back to herself, reason and physical senses rousing as the Archives took a more permanent shape around her.

A tendril of curiosity and one of concern waivered behind, hesitant to retreat fully. This wasn’t the time; wasn’t the time she’d had planned, anyways. After the, uh, _occurrence_ she’d been wrenched into the previous day, she should have anticipated the likelihood for such things to awaken outside her control. It was not advantageous to interfere now…but still, if she didn’t…

Breha bit her tongue harshly, letting the pain wash over her and clarity along with it.

Now was not the time. To hang on or intervene at this moment would ultimately do more harm than good, and she trusted the forces within her control and those without that damages could be righted if need be. Events were falling into motion faster than she liked, but the universe had a way of course-correcting itself.

So she cut them off; she didn’t sever the connection entirely, but instead buried them so deep within her psyche she could feel nothing of their war. She would take them out at a later time if need be. If something more catastrophic or potentially fatal happened, she would know and handle it then.

Unnerved but satisfied, Breha forced herself to her feet in the dark…and almost choked on an involuntary giggle. Twice in one day to such magnitude had left her senses completely fried, an exposed wire being dragged through the dirt, and she was physically giddy with maddened expectation.

This wasn’t good.

She could go for a coma right about now. But there was still a task to complete—she could sleep later in her detention cell.

*

“Ready, buddy?”

Artoo beeped a confirmation through the comms, unhappy, but ready to go.

Breha touched the databank before her, giving a final once-over to the dark maze around her, before sweeping up the coat she’d left as a marker and allowing a sigh to resettle her chest. She had only lost a few minutes, going by her internal clock, but had still jogged the rest of the way into position to make up for lost time. Artoo didn’t need to know about another incident right now or he’d scrap the whole plan.

Datadisk in hand, they were good to go.

“See ya’ on the other side then, small stuff,” Breha said. “Don’t go driving Besh mad.”

Before he could retort, she started the countdown: “Three, two, one…”

They inserted their disks simultaneously, and waited.

*

Security Officer Dreggs, designation K3472-SF, was having an absolutely dreadful day.

This occurred to him, morosely and all too unhelpfully, as his body tumbled and a careened and slid half the length of Nyrtet Square before abruptly slamming to a stop at the base of its central fountain.

Dreggs lay there for a moment, crumpled in a pathetic pile.

His patrol speeder was back the way he’d come, twisted and warped and missing a dozen pieces as they’d shot across the area—kind of like him—with little plumes of smoke rising here and there to add to the bike’s tragic end. To add to his absolutely horrid day, he felt a sharp pain as he breathed (broken ribs were always fun) and the arm he’d used to break his fall when he was thrown from his vehicle was sticking out in a decidedly unpleasant way.

He was _**done**_ with this day. Unconditionally.

It had started absolutely horrid when he’d been shaken from sleep by his distraught wife to be informed, in no easy terms, that the Hosnian System had been wiped from existence.

It had continued a path of misery when he’d had to think of a way to explain ‘annihilation’ and ‘genocide’ to his kids when he returned home. His only comfort was that he hadn’t lost someone the way Security Officer Samas, designation K3925-SF, had. The least he could do was cover his shift.

The day had come to an absolute and top-tier day of shitty when, after tolerating three cups of the worst caf in his _life_ , his sector had received the emergency-all-units-respond alert that the Archives had been successfully broken into and the suspect was at large in the financial district.

Dreggs had known it was bad when they’d called in his bottom-of-the-barrel unit for backup. He’d known it was even worse when they’d called in the bottom-of-the-bottom-of-the-barrel units.

First Order, they’d all thought. An attempt at sabotage or a team of slicers trying to gain a list of war-ready ships not destroyed with Hosnian.

But no, they’d said. Just one person. Just one person making a fool of the Archives’ elite squad…and everyone else.

He hadn’t believed it at first: the alpha dogs, the cream of the crop, the gold standard and utter hotshots of Central City couldn’t catch a lone criminal? It was almost funny, a wry amusement born from years of jokes at his own departments' expense. But Dreggs had believed them real fast once she, and he’d been close enough to determine she was a she, had almost gotten him run over by a Duderrian P-39 transport and again when, after losing sight of her for the sixth time, she popped up three blocks back the way they had just come.

The suspect must have had a jammer or stealth tech on her person because they couldn’t track her on their scanners. Infrared sensors would do no reliable good in a city this packed, so they had to end up relying on line of sight like primitives. Even then, she was close to impossible to keep track of. She would disappear around a corner only to be spotted ten alleys down a few minutes later.

She was clever and she was fast.

 _ **Ridiculous**_.

They played this game for hours, drawing in more and more far-fetched teams for support. After a while, it had simply become personal.

Everyone wanted to nail this perp, and everyone wanted the catch themselves.

Dreggs had been no different than the others, running solely on adrenaline and wounded dignity—he had pride in his job even if he was near the end of the food chain—in his determination to get her. Which was why, when she’d dashed between the rooftops over his perimeter mark, he’d taken off in a flash, shouting their status into his comms for the others to follow.

The past few hours had taught him nothing, apparently, because a few harried turns in the alley maze outside of Nyrtet Commons and one good feint into a drainage ditch and she’d run him and his anti-grav pursuit bike straight into a ferrocrete bench on the outer rim of Nyrtet Square.

If Dreggs believed in a higher power he might’ve had time to name his grievances as he flew.

Which was how he’d ended up here. On the floor. With a wrecked speeder and a slew of broken bones and a shattered soul to go along with it.

He wasn’t even sure which way she took off.

Dreggs was done.

*

Breha would have to let them catch her soon.

The officer she had just run into the pits was…unfortunate, but he’d be fine; she had maneuvered them all into the less populated areas of the city for a reason, but she had no qualms about a few broken bones or destruction of property.

If he wasn’t prepared for something like this then he shouldn’t have made this his career.

Hearing familiar shouts at her back to, well, _stop_ , she rolled under a stalled F-6-F transport and sprung back to her feet before ducking into the alley on her left. The whining keen of her pursuit vehicles echoed behind her as one of the members of her loving entourage collided with the F-6-F, going by the din of chaos that erupted in her wake. No one was seriously hurt, her senses informed her. It was fine. She took another two turns, a right and a quick left, dodging waste bins and large metal scrap piles as she did.

Breha was going too fast to register most of her surroundings, less focused on leading them away from the Archives than she was on leaving them bantha-shit confused and in disarray, throwing in a sprinkling of mayhem where she pleased. The old mining tunnels under the Industrial District had been fun to use but she had needed to resurface often to keep them busy. Now that she was driven further toward the inner-residences she chose to rely mainly on her speed—she was always been gifted with it.

At least this way the security teams in pursuit would feel that much closer to boxing her in. She only had to keep them occupied just a little while more. The longer they were in pursuit was all the more “sloppy” she got, appearing that much more desperate and alone. The more desperate she seemed, the more convinced they would be in their perception that once she was under arrest there would be no need to do a full sweep of the Archives for back up. Not to mention she was using a large swath of their resources and manpower as it was to keep up this show; dispatching any search teams that might discover Artoo, if they were already comfortable that they could get her to reveal what they wanted, would seem wasteful.

If worst came to worst, she could simply, uh… _adjust_ their assessments of what they thought they knew. It wasn’t preferable, but nor would she break a sweat.

She jumped over a recycling container, momentum carrying her lightly across its smooth top surface, before shaking off the landing that was just a little farther than she’d anticipated. It would probably be a good idea to circle around towards the entertainment district now, she mused. Breha took the next corner at a run, leaping over a trio of small servo-droids no doubt on an errand for their fussy boss, still running at a pace so break-neck anyone else might’ve gotten whiplash by now and—him.

 _Him_.

He was here. **_He was here._**

Breha stumbled a little and threw out a hand to catch herself. Who was here?

Thousands of systems away, the black-masked Master of the Knights of Ren had stopped dead in his tracks, mere feet from the main entrance to the hexagonal chasm in Starkiller Base.

 _He_ was in there, right on the other side of these walls—walls which seemed so _small_ now, but played a more critical role than they ever had before.

Right on the other side…

It was one choice. Just one. All he had to do was pass those walls, enter the thermal oscillator chamber, and cut him down. Then he would be all he should be, all the Supreme Leader saw in him; he would be all he was destined for…and maybe, just maybe, it would make the pain go away.

He just had to make it past those walls.

But he couldn’t move. He _tried_. He found his feet frozen to the floor.

The squadron of troopers behind him was tense, all too familiar with the strained set of his shoulders and ready for one of them to be cut down by his crimson blade. They all stood in silence, afraid to break whatever trance their commander had found himself in, but aware nonetheless they’d been summoned to deal with the intruders and that time was _of the essence_. But Ren did not move, neither toward the oscillator chamber nor away from it, so neither did they.

Breha was doubled over in the alleyway, hands braced against the wall as she struggled to remain upright. She closed her eyes. Now _this_?

She dug her fingers fiercely into the wall, feeling the skin scrape and split and bleed.

She could sense what he could. She knew what it was he labored over.

This was not going to happen. The ‘Supreme Leader’ was not going to get his way and he was not going to take this from them, too. Not after all this. She had worked too hard, she had bled and suffered and lost too much and she wasn’t going to lose anything more today, not here and not like this. He was not going to win.

Ren let his weight shift, preparing to step forward. Breha reached out and held him back, presence as light as a ghost and almost as unseen.

He felt it, nonetheless. The connection was brief, a fleeting shadow of its truest form. But it washed over him, like a wave upon the sands washed away the footprints of regret, to wrap him in pause.

No.

Fists clenched, he tried to take another step and found himself just as rooted, tied to his place before the walls by a tendril so wrapped in firm assurance that his spine tingled with the weight of that conviction.

 _No_.

He stretched right back to shove her aside—she slipped away from his reach like snow dancing on an air current.

He took a shaky step, defiance as prominent as his grief.

She could’ve stopped him, Ren knew. But she didn’t need to. Instead she chose to remind.

The wind came to him.

He heard it, even here in this place where the wind didn’t live. He heard it dancing through the long lake grasses, light and chittering as it passed through the pale-golden reeds which had so long ago faded with the cooling of the seasons.

He felt it, caressing his skin as he ran through the soft stalks that towered over them. Chasing, heart pumping. Her shriek of laughter, somewhere ahead of him and dancing, always dancing beyond his reach.

He could smell it, the scent crisp and sweet and just _asking to be bottled, don’t’cha think Ben?_

 ** _No_**.

The wind got louder, more powerful as it tried to sweep him off his feet, traces of electricity in the air a prelude to what had been a coming storm front. It was exhilarating, the same exhilaration from a time long past tingling unbidden at his fingertips.

 _Stop_.

He heard their names being called from somewhere beyond the grasses. His name. Her name. Names he hadn’t heard or tasted in years draping over him like a sheet of bantha wool. _It’s time to go home now, you two_.

He recoiled, wanting out.

Ren stepped back, then forward two steps more, then faltered and swayed on his feet. His troopers watched the curious scene, torn between their mission to stop the Resistance fighters before they could do too much damage and between a fondness for their own necks should Commander Ren decide their intentions were misplaced.

They were running out of time, the shields were down and the Base was at risk. As exposed as they were, the Resistance could gain an advantage at any moment.

And gain an advantage they had. Charges set, thermal oscillator ready to blow at the touch of a button, Resistance forces on the ground ready to retreat and get as far from there as possible…

All they needed was one more moment to fulfill their mission.

One moment…a fleeting instance of genuine distraction.

She knew what she needed to do.

Ren moved, lifting a foot.

Breha didn’t hesitate, exiting the alley at a run and into the direct path of a whining speeder, registering the shriek of the engines as the owner desperately tried to avoid her person. But there was an old saying about momentum and she was about to taste it.

Ren instinctively raised his hands to fend off a blow that never came. The pain that blossomed fresh in his side was real, to be sure, as was the sensation from a sudden impact on his opposite side a moment later—but there was no injury, no blood. He was fine. He fought the impulse to hold his sides together all the same.

Gravity seemed to be weighing him down as a cacophony of foreign sounds echoed wildly in his skull, lightheaded as he blinked to cure his eyes of their sudden blurriness.

He felt hands on him-but-not-him, grabbing and pulling on him from all directions. But no one was touching him. His troopers would never _dare_ get so close. The hands-that-weren’t-there pulled him up, away from gravity, yanking him forward to walk clumsily toward the city’s interrogation headquarters, mouths belonging to bodies belonging to hands yelling angrily in his ears.

So adrift was he that he barely noticed the explosion that consumed the chasm before him and the stormtroopers. He _did_ notice when he was thrown from his feet and he noticed when the troopers around him began to shout in surprise and astonishment.

Kylo Ren returned to himself fully to examine the clear lack of an entrance to the oscillator chamber. What had happened?

The ground trembled beneath him, rippling as easily as a drop of water in a puddle. The Base was coming undone—it was collapsing on itself from the inside out. They couldn’t afford to stay much longer.

Kylo Ren stayed in the hallway still, gazing toward where the entrance used to be at something no one else could understand. _He_ had been _in_ there. He wasn’t in there any longer, no, he could feel him up on the surface, racing ahead with the traitors to power up the ship, regret and guilt shadowing his every step. Why? He told himself it didn’t matter. Nothing that man did or thought or felt concerned _him_. Ren would never catch up to him on time anyways. That left the matter woefully unresolved, and he tried not to focus on the fact he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

But that was another problem for another day.

He turned on his heel and walked away, stormtroopers falling in line obediently, as the security officers of Kuat City marched her dazed form up the steps of the detention facility and into its depths for interrogation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter catches up with some of the other players!


	3. Discovery

Rey wanted to help—she really did. But she figured she might just end up being more in the way.

Besides, she wanted to keep an eye on Finn herself. Every little dip in his vitals, every stunted breath, and she could feel her heart skip. But being there to hold his hand and see him stabilize once again was better medicine than any value she might feel for being temporarily useful.

It was a little quieter now than it had been twenty minutes ago, but the manic din of the evacuation persisted outside the walls of the infirmary.

Rey had, at the very least, helped the doctor—what was her name again? Kalunda? Calopa? —pack up the necessities of the medical wing. Even then, it hadn’t taken very long: the room itself was small and, being an organization that had to be prepared for tight evacs such as this, things were already more or less prepped for transport. Still, she had felt useful and it had allowed her to keep one eye on Finn’s condition at the same time. But now they were done, barring the manpower means to move Finn and some of the other patients, and Rey had nothing else to do.

So she sat, twisted the rough cloth of the new clothing she had been graciously given, and waited until another opportunity presented itself.

Han had popped his head in briefly to get an update from the good doctor, nothing but a quick nod of the head between them to establish that Rey was doing all right, before he vanished again. Rey was too wired to take it personally. Rebel, once-upon-a-time General, and infamous smuggler: Han Solo had probably been through an evacuation or two in his time and knew where he would be the most useful.

Rey started a little as she felt Finn’s hand twitch, but he otherwise remained still. She squeezed it in return, fighting down a fresh wave of panic.

He had to survive—he just had to.

Han, Finn, Chewbacca, and Rey herself, had all thought themselves free and clear of First Order retribution once the charges had successfully gone off and the base had begun its collapse; they had thought themselves even more so once they’d reached the safety of the _Millennium Falcon_ unhindered, not a trace of resistance to stop them. But they’d been wrong. Even as the old ship had lifted off, and even as Starkiller Base began to keen its death throes around them, one of the turbolaser towers had managed to land a shot near their port side. The _Millennium Falcon’s_ shields had barely managed to deflect most of the blast at that range, but the impact compensators hadn’t yet enough time to reach full capacity—both Finn and Rey had been sent flying, literally and headfirst, down the port-side corridor to the communal area, into the dejarric table and the wall beyond.

Finn, like an idiot, had cushioned the fall for her with his own body and received a nasty blow to the head in payment.

Rey had come out of it with some scrapes and now-blackened bruises of her own—being strapped into the cockpit, Han and Chewie had escaped entirely—but she wasn’t the one lying unconscious in the medical wing with severely swollen brain tissue and multiple broken ribs.

The doctor had examined Finn, given him a number of injections Rey couldn’t hope to name, and said there was a good chance he would survive the swelling undamaged. The older woman had, however, not been entirely guarded in her observation that the drug given to reduce the inflammation wasn’t working as fast as it should have been.

Rey didn’t feel confident in that at all.

On Jakku, they didn’t have doctors. Not in any traditional sense. If people had a problem or became ill they dealt with it themselves—or died. There had been the occasional off-worlder who would come by to trade medical supplies or advice, always at a price too high for most to dream of, but in Rey’s experience they had been con men spinning the illusion of help with no real expertise. She’d never met a real, salt of the earth doctor, but the evacuation wasn’t allowing her the space to form an opinion.

Rey got the sense the woman was genuine in intention, but Finn was the first person she’d found—or had found her—that she couldn’t bare to lose. He had come back for her, so she would look after him herself, thank you very much.

She squeezed his hand again, gently mopping the sweat from his brow, and waited for the time when they would be evacuated as well.

It was Poe who finally came for them.

They had met only briefly, once over the comms as they’d all fled the dying killer-planet and once in passing as the pilot came to make sure Finn wasn’t in immediate danger, but Rey had heard all about him and how he helped Finn escape the First Order. Her instincts told her Poe was good and trustworthy, and BB-8’s clear adoration was all the validation she needed.

“Time to go,” he said, a little out of breath. Without further ado, he grabbed the other side of Finn’s anti-grav bed and helped her navigate it down the maze of corridors, into the open air, and toward one of the main transport ships. Between the buzzing mass of people and the noise of shouted orders, there wasn’t much room for conversation.

Rey took a deep breath of the last fresh air that would be had for the next few days, and tried to focus on the commotion around her.

Amongst the green of D’Qar—so _much_ of it, but not as much Takadona—Rey noticed the _Falcon_ was already gone.

As they made it onto the transport and the daylight was swallowed up behind them, she felt a pinch of sadness.

Rey didn’t know why she felt they should’ve waited for her—she didn’t have any ownership or say on Han or Chewbacca or what they did—but a sense of panic was creeping in and she did her best to wrestle in down like a sand-striker. Yes, they _had_ both been kinder to her than anyone besides Finn, and yes, they _had_ offered her a job she had turned down, and yes, they _had_ come for her on Starkiller Base…but they didn’t owe her anything.

Besides, it had been pretty clear from the get-go that their little rescue team, minus Finn, hadn’t been there just for her. It had been a mission for their war—now Rey’s, she realized suddenly—and she was just a bonus. More than once she had gotten the sense that Han had been there for something more. He hadn’t gotten it, whatever it was, but the way he had lingered, casting long glances back to the base as if he might go back had been enough to leave her curious. Han had _definitely_ gone for something more, a something more that was definitely _not_ her—

Rey shook her head furiously, blinking away the strands of thought.

Han was war-experienced; he couldn’t waste precious evac time on her abandonment complex. Rey knew they would all see each other again, there were simply more pressing matters.

“You alright?’ Poe asked.

“Hmm?” Rey mumbled a bit in confusion, realizing suddenly they had made it to the stern-section of the ship without her noticing, surrounded by boxes and other personnel from the infirmary. It took her a minute to register the question. “Yes! I’m fine.”

Poe raised a brow. He wasn’t convinced. He didn’t know if anyone had bothered to ask her about her time on Starkiller Base, but he’d been treated to the First Orders’ hospitality himself and knew she probably wasn’t ‘fine’. Especially not if she’d been victim to Be—Kylo Ren’s brand of questioning.

“Really! I’m alright,” she started out in a rush, no indication she was following his particular line of thought, “You go on, I’ll take care of Finn.”

“I don’t doubt he’s in safe hands,” Poe agreed with a small smile, just a brief turn of the lips amid the grim reality. There was too much going on right now to press the matter; he would do what he could to get her help if she needed it once they were all settled at the new base.

He mustered what enthusiasm he could to put her at ease and said, “Refresher’s down the hall to the left,” he gestured directionally as he spoke, “and there’s a caf distiller and conservator some way farther down on the right.” Now he pointed at one of the medical staff in the corner, pouring over a datapad. “That’s Rovus—“ at the sound of his name the man looked up and waved in their direction, “—and he’ll be keeping on eye on our buddy when Doctor Kalonia can’t, alright? If you have any questions, or if you need anything, just go ahead and ask him and he’ll take of it.” He hesitated a little at the last part and Rey could guess the unspoken words: _Just don’t expect too much, we’re not exactly swimming in resources._

Rey nodded. She had never needed much.

Poe lingered a moment more as if he was expecting a question, or maybe some sign from Finn, some minor indication that their friend would indeed be okay. With the urgency of their mutual departures at hand, Rey said, “Thank you, Poe. Really. We’ll be fine, and, uh…I guess we’ll see you in a few days?”

She clung to the meaning of ‘we’ like it was a lifeline.

“A few days,” he repeated with a nod. His squadron was assigned to hang back for another hour or two to protect and escort the last of the fleet. The new base had already been cleared and was being prepped for arrival.

“Hey,” Poe started again, smiling a real smile this time, “nice flying on Jakku, by the way. Going through the engines of a Super Star Destroyer? I wish I could’ve seen it myself!”

Rey gaped a little and felt her face flush with the compliment—these past few days had to be something out of a dream. “Finn told you?”

He gave her one of those crinkly-eyed, charming grins she assumed hotshot pilots became known for. “’Course he did. He’s a good guy, Finn. I’d like to keep him around.” They both looked at him fondly, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as the monitor beeped steadily. “We could use someone like you around here, too.”

Rey was surprised at the words; it seemed a lot of people were finding something in her more than her value for scavenging good parts lately. She didn’t mind it. It felt—well, it felt nice, but she didn’t want that to settle. Not yet, anyways. A lot of things were taken from you on Jakku: hope, compassion, expectation, faith. She’d maintained her grip on those she had left because she didn’t allow herself to become accustomed to the rare nicety or false promise—and she’d learned that the hard way.

But…to be needed…

She shook off the line of thought. It wasn’t something she felt like dealing with now.

“Poe!” A shout from the entrance of the room drew their attention to a short, multi-limbed species Rey couldn’t put a name to. “Control says we’re up in four,” it said. “You might want to get off while you still can.”

Poe waved a gesture of acknowledgment and turned to Rey, an apologetic smile painting his face. “Gotta’ go,” he said, “Don’t be afraid to ask if you need anything, you hear?”

She nodded, and the pilot held up a closed fist to her, waiting. Rey was confused by the gesture—some sort of departing ritual? —but reciprocated it with a slight tap between them for lack of any better ideas. Poe beamed, tossed a final ‘ _See ya’ at the rendezvous’_ over his shoulder, and was gone. Not five minutes later and the transport trembled slightly as it went through its takeoff sequence, and then they were off the ground, through atmo, and into the clear brink of space.

It wasn’t until the starlines visible through the sole viewport turned into the mottled array of hyperspace that Rey realized just how _tired_ she was.

There had been so much going on, _too_ much, to pay any attention to the physical and mental needs of her own, but now a heaviness descended over her like a blanket of sand and all she could register was how exhausted she felt. She dimly registered the strain of her muscles in keeping her upright, the slight shaking in her knees and the trembling in her hands. She was burnt out at both ends, her senses shot, and she wanted nothing more to curl up beside Finn and take a nice, long nap.

But Rey promised she’d watch over Finn, so with desert-hardened determination, she chose the softest-looking steel crate she could find, dragged it over to his bed in spite of her aching limbs, and plopped down to wait.

Not ten minutes in and it was taking everything she had to keep her eyes open. The melodic beeping of Finn’s now-stable biomonitor was as comforting as it was sedative, wafting around her like a cloud coaxing her to submission; between that, her body which had surrendered without even the pretense of a fight, and the relative quiet of the other patients and staff around her, she wasn’t surprised to find her eyes drifting ever-closer together, taking so long to force back open, so long…

*****

Rey _was_ surprised when she woke up a day and a half later, jolted out of a dreamless sleep by a sharp _CLANG_ that set her heart racing, senses frantically pulling themselves from slumber to find the source— _where was it_ —of the disturbance, of any attacker, the cold-hard vision of Kylo Ren slamming his helmet down onto—

But there was no attacker. She was safe and sound in the medical wing of the Resistance transport, right where she’d last been, and what had woken her was nothing more than a fallen datapad. In the dim light, the one who’d dropped it had the decency to look sheepish.

Rey took a deep breath to calm the pounding against her ribs, and took a longer look around her.

Besides the brief commotion, the room was calm in general, the lighting faint for the patients’ comfort. Two medical personnel roamed between the dozen or so patients checking vitals, administering routine meds, and updating charts; along the wall opposite her, Rey could see another two staffers resting on a padded bench, presumably taking what sleep they could before it was time for their rounds. The marbled glow of hyperspace was still visible through the tiny viewport, and aside from occasional light chatter between those patients able to speak, there wasn’t much to take in that hadn’t been there before.

Finn was just as he’d been before, too, monitor stable and beeping out a methodical rhythm. Rey wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse: his condition hadn’t worsened since she’d dropped the ball and fallen asleep on him, but it hadn’t improved, either.

It _certainly_ didn’t help to find she’d drooled all over the sleeve of Finn’s tunic in her unconscious state. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” came an easy-going voice from somewhere behind her, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Rey turned to find a girl, probably just a little older than herself, sitting cross-legged on a low crate against the wall behind her, a datapad in her lap. She wore the orange-red flight suit of a Resistance pilot, the sleeves tied around her waist to make room for the plasto-cast on her left arm; her dark hair was pulled into a lazy half-knot at the top of her head. She smiled easily at Rey.

“If it makes you feel any better, at least you didn’t snore,” she said, flicking her useable wrist at another of the patients, “Big Buster over there was liable to knock us out of hyperspace with his racket— ‘m impressed you managed to sleep through it.”

“Ho—How long was I out?” Longer than she’d thought, if the hoarseness of her voice was anything to go by. Rey swallowed a few times, desperate for something to wash away the dry.

“A while,” the girl said. “You’ve been asleep as long as I’ve been here…though I was out myself for a few hours so I can’t say for sure.” She gave an apologetic shrug, the shifting light from her datapad flashing briefly across her round face.

Rey nodded a little, slightly uncomfortable. She had never slept so long in an unfamiliar place.

The other girl seemed to sense her discomfort. She held up a canteen by her side and shook it a little. “You thirsty? I just refilled it.”

Rey eyed her a bit with suspicion, and then consciously reminded herself that this was not Jakku. She was up and moving toward the girl with the water in no time.

Even with the promise to quench Rey’s thirst, it was harder to make her body work than she’d thought. Every part of her ached and screamed at the cramped way she’d been resting, feet shuffling awkwardly as they tried to remember how to do the walking thing. Rey was also surprised when a blanket, that she guessed had at some point been draped over her shoulders, fell to the ground with the movement. It took a great deal of effort just to bend over to pick it up.

The girl moved over to make room for Rey on the crate, and held out her hand. “I’m Jess, by the way. Jessika Pava. But everyone jus’ calls me Jess.”

Rey eyed the hand before shaking it cautiously. “Rey.” She had the distinct impression the other already knew that, but she sat nonetheless.

She took and downed the canteen presented to her with great earnest. It wasn’t water, as she’d presumed, but it was cool, slightly sweet, and all sorts of refreshing. She finished every last drop in record time and stared at the empty rim with regret.

Jess stared at her, mouth slightly open.

“Sorry,” Rey said sheepishly. Finishing the drinking supply of a stranger was probably not the best thing she could have done—scratch that, it definitely was not the best thing she could have done. Rey didn’t know what the trade value on water or any other liquid with the Resistance was yet, and she didn’t want to get chewed out.

Jess shook her head and smiled instead. “Don’t be,” she laughed in amazement, “there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, don’t even worry about it,” she said, “I’m just surprised you managed it all in one go. Most people can’t stomach that much douva at a time.”

Rey was surprised. Whatever douva was, it tasted delicious to her.

“You hungry too? Scratch that, you’ve gotta’ be,” Jess insisted as she moved her datapad to reach for a small bag hiding underneath. “I’ve got some protein nibs, if you want.” She gestured the open bag at Rey. “Resistance ones aren’t as good as the Termenis variety, but they’ll fill you up just as well.”

Rey reached for the bag eagerly, hunger pains superseding any desire for politeness, and popped three into her mouth at once. One second was all it took for it to hit her taste buds, and she melted. So _good_. They were chewy, more than a little grainy, and took some time to get down without more douva, but they were worth it.

She was working on her sixth and seventh of them, Jess watching her face in amusement, when Rey finally got a glance at the flashing on Jess’ datapad—and almost dropped the bag.

“Is that—oh by the stars, is that _Turncoat Blue_?!” Rey didn’t even wait for an answer before shoving her face as close to the screen as she could manage. “ _It is_! By the gods, that’s the Filvellian Race on Cordos Minor! Eleven-to-One odds, crossed the finish line in first place with—”

“—with two-point-three-seven standard hours to spare!” Jessika finished for her.

Rey was practically shaking, this time with excitement. “ _Turncoat Blue_ used the slip-stream maneuver around the _Bright Lady_ to knock them out of the race, blew their navigation—“

“—and no one else even stood a chance! Once _Blue_ made it past the polar field and through the Riveting Rings—“

“—it was just a matter of how much of the record _Blue_ broke! And going through the Cordos Upper Flats?! Brilliant!”

“Absolutely brilliant!” Jess agreed with gusto, gripping the pad tightly in excitement. “Did you see _Turncoat’s_ race on Antion? Or the Serpents Spine? Or—“

“Shh!” Admonished one of the medics, coming toward them hastily. “Some of the patients are still sleeping. Keep it down a bit, Jess.”

Jess looked far too excited to keep it down, but begrudgingly waved them off, seemingly used to being told to keep it down. “Alright, alright.”

Rey in turn lowered her voice to a whisper, and watched the race on the screen in awe. “It’s so _clear_ ,” she said, “I’ve never seen a recording this defined before…oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Really?” Her companion seemed mildly shocked. “This is pretty standard, although I’m sure you could find an even better one out there—” Jess went off on a slight rant, something about knowing a guy who knew a guy who might be able to hook someone up with a direct rendering, but Rey couldn’t hear it over the beating of her own heart.

One of the traders who occasionally dropped by for parts used to bring holo-recordings of the races to sell to Unkar Plutt’s engineers; in turn, the engineers would let scavengers like Rey trade portions for the chance to watch them. They were always poor quality: at best, the judges commentary would cut out, barely discernible, and more often than not whole sections would be fuzzy or cut out, but they were _something_. They were the rare treat, the phenomena you could replay in your head during the long trek to the Graveyard of Ships, the something _more_ you could dream of seeing in person if someone was lucky enough to escape the junkyard planet. They had provided a rare bit of fun, a rare sampling of dreams.

And this…this was one of her favorite races of _Turncoat Blue’s_ , one of her favorite racers period. She knew every move by heart, and had more than once programmed her flight-simulator back on Jakku to recreate it—just so she could imagine what it was like to be in the copilots seat. To see it with such clarity…

“—more if you want to see them.”

“Sorry?” Rey said, rather flushed she had missed something.

Jess smiled, though, not at all put off. Rey got the feeling the Resistance pilot understood exactly the kind of wonder she felt. “I said I have more, if you want to see them. In fact,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m sure I have _all_ of them—the known ones, anyways. Some smuggler on Pantos IV once tried to tell me there had been a secret run of _Turncoat’s_ for some private financers elite game, tried to sell me a copy, but I never got the chance to see if he was right.”

The datapad trembled in Rey’s hand, handful of protein nibs in the other. “You have…all of them?” The aches in her muscles seemed to all but vanish.

Jess smiled conspiratorially. “Mm-hmm. And we’ve got plenty of time. Captain says we aren’t due at the rendezvous for another fifty-one hours.”

Did she want to watch all of _Turncoat Blue’s_ races?

That wasn’t even a question for Rey. It probably wasn’t a question for _any_ sane individual in the galaxy. There was nothing much she could do here, everything seemed to be running smoothly, and Finn was her only concern. There was Rovus and the other medics if she needed them. She had food to eat and douva to drink.

Not even bothering with a verbal answer, Rey jumped to her feet, ignored her complaining muscles, and bodily hauled Finn’s bed that much closer—she at least wanted him to feel in on the action.

Jess pulled up her Serpent’s Spine recording, and Rey settled in for the long haul.

*** * ***

Norra Wexley was running late—really late. She hustled as fast as she could through the streets, still in disbelief at the damage around her.

It certainly wasn’t damage that had been there two days ago.

She huffed in annoyance as a traffic droid pointed her in another direction—again—with a handful of similarly delayed pedestrians. Another access way closed off. _Great._ That made fourteen. The destruction couldn’t possibly be that widespread—the local news had claimed it the result of a minor incident involving a malfunctioning lift droid. Judging by the pattern in the chaos, Norra didn’t quite buy that.

But it was also none of her business, so she kept her nose out of it and roughly pushed past a pair of slow-moving Thoxans. She couldn’t miss her window.

Once she saw the dismal, dull grey of the New Republic command station she quickened her steps. Norra honed in on the entrance, close behind two officers returning from lunch—a lunch spent drowning their sorrows, if their breath was anything to go by—before veering quickly to the left and circling her way around the building, sticking tight to the walls and keeping an eye out for unwanted visitors. This was an old building, with old surveillance tech, but she wasn’t about to be sloppy regardless. She moved quickly but silently, years as a soldier coming in handy, before she approached an old maintenance exit.

Norra scoped her surroundings once more for good measure. Confident she went unnoticed, she leaned close to the rusty door and knocked—three quick taps, a pause, another tap followed by an extended pause, then followed by five more raps in quick succession.

The door opened immediately to reveal one very fidgety Lieutenant Teesha Nyeura, partially blocking the entrance into a long, dark hallway.

Waiting for her.

" _Finally_. I was beginning to get worried.”

“Hey,” Norra greeted back, quickly shouldering her way past the anxious lieutenant who shut the door promptly. The dull yellow light of the pod-sensors illuminated their faces. “Sorry I’m late. Ah _, unforeseen_ circumstances.” She opened the front of her coat to let in the warmth of the building while she sent an apologetic smile the younger woman’s way.

She received a smile right back in response as Teesha gestured to follow her deeper into the corridor. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Things have been crazy around here—I was scared I might not make it myself,” she said tiredly as they made their way up a flight of lazily lit stairs.

Norra laughed lowly, eyes keen as a hawk so as not to stumble on the dark steps. “Lieutenant Nyeura, late? I’ll drink to the day.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I’m not that much of a stick in the mud, Wexley. I can…relax.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I _can_ ,” she insisted, pout evident even in the dark.

Norra reached through the dark to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. Teesha swatted her hand away, slowing her ascent as they approached the entrance to the fifth floor offices.

“The command staff is in a briefing right now, we’ve only got about 15 more minutes,” Teesha explained, cracking the door slightly and peaking through, “and the support staff’s all down on level three.”

Norra raised a brow.

Teesha shrugged. “Told them I had a fella sneakin’ in for some private time—none of us have had time off in days so they bought it—and that I wanted their nosy butts outta my hair. The Systren cake sweetened the deal.”

Norra shrugged. As long as they wouldn’t be caught.

Once she was sure the coast was clear, Teesha ushered her into the brightly lit corridor of the office level and they carried on. The lighting in the hallway afforded her a clearer look at the younger woman’s face. She looked like she hadn’t had a good nights sleep in a week, but Norra could hardly blame her. After what had happened to the Hosnian System…well, quite frankly Norra judged anyone who had been able to sleep soundly in the days since. But the unhealthy pallor to the girls cheeks, combined with the dark rings around her eyes, was more indicative of caffeinating oneself through all-nighters rather than the result of restlessness.

The New Republic had just lost its foremost leadership and the majority of its military protection, so she supposed all-nighters were to be expected. Especially when Kuat was a prime target for the next First Order attack.

They spent the rest of the walk in comfortable silence, Norra still on the lookout for any possible strays as they finally made their way to the lieutenant’s small, tucked-away office. It was a tiny little thing, crammed tight with a desk, two chairs, and a caf machine—there was barely room to breathe. Dozens upon dozens of flimsi’s littered the desktop and threatened to spill onto the floor, and a holoboard alive with running data was flickering on the side wall. The lieutenant gestured at one of the chairs kindly before she set to filling a mug—that quite frankly looked like it hadn’t been washed in days—with steaming hot caf. Norra sat immediately, eager to give her feet a rest.

Teesha took a sip then pointed at the caf machine. “Want some? I’m not gonna’ lie and say its fresh, but its sure as hell strong.”

She nodded gratefully, knowing she needed it and eager to chase away the last vestiges of cold lingering in her fingertips. The lieutenant pulled out a spare mug and filled that one to the brim as well, before passing it to her thankful companion.

Norra took one swig and grimaced. “ _Blast_! You weren’t lying. This stuff could curl anyone’s choobies.”

Teesha smiled half-heartedly, downing the entirety of her own mug in a few gulps before immediately going for a refill, then starting on that one too.

“Damn, kid, take it easy,” Norra urged, motherly concern kicking in. “Must be some case you’re working that’s got you like this.”

“Ha! You can say that again,” she started, crossing behind the desk and making herself as comfortable as possible in her the-budget-doesn’t-go-towards-comfort chair. “Someone broke into the Archives the day before yesterday. Made it through security, even managed to start loading some of the encrypted files before she was made. Gave security one hell of a nexu chase, too, almost gave ‘em the slip for good. But our guys are the best of the best for a reason—she didn’t stand a chance.”

Teesha took a deep breath and rubbed at her face in frustration, words spilling from her mouth as her better judgment to maybe _not_ reveal classified intel was clouded.

Gods she needed sleep.

She let her eyes droop briefly, so _tired_ , before snapping back to partial-wakefulness when her companion cleared her throat, purpose of Norra’s visit returned to her.

“Right,” she said urgently, jumping to attention and starting to thumb through the stack of chaos on her desk. “I transferred all I could from Commander Rike’s files, but some of it still requires his clearance code for access—mainly the purchase records from most of the cruiser and support vessels. I got you what I could though.”

“Anything is something to go on. The Resistance is desperate for all the info they can get, Teesha, so I appreciate it,” Norra assured, smiling.

The lieutenant nodded absently, sifting through the mess of her desk fruitlessly for the datachip and coming up with two handfuls of diddly and squat. “Ugh! I swear I had it right here!” She groaned in frustration at the world, mumbling to herself bitterly. “…Stupid, selfish thief. Creating messes for me to clean up. Work load so high I can’t find a simple datachip.” Teesha pointed at the desk determinedly. “Don’t worry though, it’s here somewhere.”

The older woman took a moment to process her words, curiosity getting the better of her. “That thief have anything to do with the mess in the Kareyiss District? ‘S part of the reason I’m so late.”

“Mm-hmm,” she huffed, “one and the same, they are.”

Norra took another swig from her cup. “What the hell kinda person would break into the Archives at a time like this?”

Teesha shrugged, still annoyed with said thief. “An opportunist, most likely. I don’t know. Boss is having an absolute field day trying to get it outta’ her. She’s not talking.”

Norra paid attention with rapt interest—you never knew what kind of intel could be beneficial in war—and started to help filter through the pile. “Any leads?” If there were possible ties to First Order business, she didn’t want to be surprised.

“None whatsoever. She’s not local, and surveillance footage from the landing platforms hasn’t revealed anything so far, but we still have hours more to filter through. We’ve been passing around her image, but not a single one of our security officers has claimed to recognize her. It’s like she appeared out of thin air.”

Huh. “What was she after? In the Archives?”

“Eh, the Arrivals and Departures manifest from 16 and 17 ABY. Cruiser vessels, I think?”

Norra scrunched her nose. “Can’t imagine there’s a big market for that information. She seem dangerous?” Norra handed the lieutenant a neatly stacked pile of flimsi to get it out of the way. Datachip wasn’t hiding in there.

Teesha took the pile and placed it on top of the caf machine. “I’m not sure,” she said, still digging. “I’ve never really been the best judge of character with these sorts of things. Besides, I’ve only been in the room with her once—brought her dinner that she didn’t want. Thief had the gall to request ration bars instead. Do I look like a servo-droid to you?” She huffed in indignation. “Besides, it might not be made for the most seasoned of palettes, but even our food tastes better than ration bars.”

Norra smiled. She was close to the bottom of the pile, just a few flat-holos remaining after they’d unearthed most of the flimsi, when she crowed in victory. “Aha! Found it!” She held the chip aloft in success. “Slippery little bastard.”

Turning the tiny thing slowly in front of her, the chip no bigger than her small toe, she hoped there was something useful on it. Any clues the Resistance could glean. Any trail they could follow.

With any hope there’d be _something_ to get from this.

Norra was just about to call the trip a success when something, like a flash of steel in a meadow, caught her attention.

Occupying the next layer of the pile was a flat-holo of a face—a human female. Partially obscured, it was sticking out enough that Norra could recognize the series of digits and letters along one side as a prisoner indictment number. But that wasn’t what got her attention.

What got her attention was the tiny sliver of blue edging out from what could be seen of the persons eyes.

A familiar blue.

Without quite commanding it, her hands moved to yank the image out in full, moving to flip it right side up. She needed a closer look at that blue.

She had only a fleeting glance of sandy, messed hair and cobalt eyes when Teesha took it from her hands just a moment later, slipping it onto a new pile she was creating.

Norra reached for the flat-holo blindly, fingers clenching desperately at air to have it returned.

It _couldn’t_ be.

Norra stuttered around the words, any words, trying to get them out. “W-Who…w-who is the that?”

Teesha looked her over with a mix of concern and mild curiosity. The way Norra eyed the flimsi with such intense focus…she almost felt like she had missed something.

“…This is the girl,” she said slowly, “the thief who broke into the Archives.” She kept her voice low, but it hesitated enough that Norra knew she was approaching territory that might be out of bounds. Confidentiality and all that. Norra understood that, but the information Teesha was handing over on the datachip wasn’t exactly legal either, so to speak. And she really needed to get a better look at that photo.

She reached out and snatched the flimsi with the girl’s custody image from the pile before Teesha could hide it. The older woman turned it back toward her and looked.

And looked. And looked, and looked, and looked.

“Why?” Teesha asked, interest piqued. “You recognize her?”

Norra’s hands were trembling. Her whole body was trembling.

It couldn’t be.

“Wha…What did you say this girls name was, again?”

Teesha was hesitant, and if she were honest with herself she was a little scared, too. She tried to shake herself out of it. “I, uh, didn’t. She said her name was Ina Ihms, but it’s most likely fake.”

Norra just stared at the image.

Truth be told, she could have focused on it for hours—traced every minute detail, followed the gentle slope of her nose and the graceful curve of her jaw to that familiar, razor sharp mouth.

Comparing _. Adjusting_.

But it wasn’t necessary.

It was the eyes. It was _always_ the eyes—deep set and serious, achingly stormy and sheltered by the fierce set of her brow, vicious and utterly unrelenting in their exposure of one’s self…no one had eyes like hers.

None even came close.

She felt a stinging sensation well to life in her own.

Teesha tried to take the flimsi back. Norra wouldn’t let it go.

“Where is she right now?” Her voice was stronger this time. She didn’t feel in complete control of what came out, but it was strong nonetheless.

The lieutenant just stared at her, concern marring her features.

“Where is she, Teesha? I need you to tell me.”

The girl shifted from one foot to the next, uncomfortable. “In the detainment center, a few buildings down…she’s to be transported to Chandrila first thing in the morning. They want to question her more closely for any First Order ties, because I mean _of course_ they would, the Hosnian System blows up then the next thing you know we have someone breaking into one of the most high secu—"

“—I need you to stall,” Norra interjected. There was no argument to be broached in her voice. Realizing how harsh she sounded, she finally made eye contact with the curious Lieutenant and softened her approach. “Please _. Please_. Her transfer, I need you to stall it as long as you can—two or three days, if you can manage it.” Teesha looked more than hesitant. This wasn’t part of their deal. Norra reached out, desperate, to clasp the girls hand in her own. “Please,” she begged. “It’s important.”

She was getting that, but still she said nothing.

How on earth was she supposed to stall? And why would she want to, when this crazy getting-hit-by-speeders-and-walking-it-off-psycho had made a mess of her beloved city.

Teesha didn’t actually have to contemplate long over the logistics of whether or not she could do it, when she realized it really all came to how much she trusted the woman before her. She trusted Norra Wexley, and she would help her if she could. Even _if_ she didn’t have a clue what was going on.

Still. “Just…just answer me one thing: is she dangerous? Is she a threat?”

“No,” the other woman answered firmly, if not a little too quickly for Teesha’s taste. Norra paused, then relented, “I—I don’t think so. Not to you, anyways. Probably.”

That didn’t exactly make the lieutenant feel any way on the side of reassured.

Norra’d have to pay her back big time.

"You owe me a Daynar Cruise Speeder for this one.”

Norra tried for a smile, still dazed, but more grateful in this moment than the lieutenant would ever know. “I’ll bully Temmin into making you one.”

They shook hands on it, sharing a brief hug that caught Teesha off surprise—Norra might’ve been a fantastic lady but she wasn’t one for overt signs of gratitude—before said grateful lady swept up the holo image and stumbled out of the room, confident enough to find her way out. She had to tell Wedge.

The lieutenant noticed Norra completely forgot the datachip. 

*** * ***

Rey quickly found herself learning a lot while they were in hyperspace.

For starters, she’d learned that her new favorite drink douva was a sort of nutrition-laden concoction with a grass-like base: it was designed for the body to more easily absorb its many vitamins and minerals, and was favored among parents galaxy-wide to force upon their children when ill. Jess said most adults had a mild dislike for it—probably because most people linked it with a time of sickness, she’d guessed, and there was only so much you could stomach from such an association. It wasn’t uncommon to see it in many a medic’s stash, and for guerilla-type war parties with limited supply means it was almost a staple.

Without the negative association, Rey found she loved it.

She learned why Jessika Pava was here, on board the medical transport, instead of flying escort duty with Poe and the others: her X-Wing had blown one of its starboard pressure regulators during the escape from Starkiller Base and flooded the cockpit with gas, leaving her with some nasty burns on her left arm and a rather light head from the toxic inhalation. ‘ _Deemed unfit to fly’_ , she had said moodily, despite the fact her ship probably wouldn’t have made the flight without a tow, anyways.  

She learned that the fighter pilot had indeed known who she was when Rey introduced herself, tipped off by Poe on the way out, asking for a favor to keep an eye out.

She learned the names of all the staff and the patients and some of the crew, she learned that the medical frigate they were on had been in use for forty-two years, she learned that Han and Chewbacca had gone out to find and bring back some “old friends” who might be of use, and she learned the few astromechs on board reallyyyy did not like Jess. She learned about some of Jess’ friends and fellow fighter-pilots, her loyalty and admiration clear, she learned that Jess had joined the Resistance four years ago, and she learned that Jess could not wait to get back in the fight, and that if ‘ _she had to clear herself for combat she would damn well clear herself’_.

She learned many other things, too.

But most importantly of all, Rey learned that Finn seemed to like the races—or at least the way she talked about them. Every time she wasn’t using her hands to snack on protein nibs or down her sixth helping of douva, she was holding his hand and telling him excitedly about all the ones she planned to show him anyways once he woke up. He didn’t wake up—not quite time yet, Rovus said—but every now and then he would respond to the events she described for him, his vitals hiking just a notch and staying there like piling sand. Every uptick, every minor twitch of his hand or extra-high rise of his chest, and Rey’s hope would grow that much further.

In the silence that reigned when Jess dozed off here and there, Rey told Finn about what she _didn’t_ know…and what she hoped they could maybe find out, together.

Having Jess and Poe and Han and all of the others they’d met help them out was nice, very much so, but it left a hole and made her feel more than a little out of her depth. Finn was just as new to all of this Resistance stuff as she was, but at least they wouldn’t be discovering their place among them alone. She’d run and fought and almost died beside him, now Rey was eager for a time to learn beside him, too.

Which left the matter of Jakku…

It was a strange feeling, stubborn in its perseverance, that she might now be choosing not to go back.

Maz Kanata had said Rey already knew no one was coming back for her. She hadn’t been able to muster the strength to respond, with all the weight and dread and pain just beyond the horizon at such an acknowledgment.

Rey wasn’t sure she was even acknowledging it _now_.

But whether she was or she wasn’t, there was so much more for her now, too. She had Finn. She had others also, like Han and Chewie and Poe and Jess, she would like to keep if she could. She had them, she had Finn, right there in front of her. Concrete. Graspable. Not some vague impression of a voice and a promise and something she’d never been able to hold.

Here. Now.

She wanted to keep **_this_**.

But…

She wanted to keep her hope that she’d _meant_ something, too. Meant something as more than what people were seeing in her now—that whoever had left her with Unkar Plutt had done so for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. There _had_ been someone, and they _had_ promised to come back for her. She knew it.

And just as happened every time Rey tried to reach further within herself, to search for a face or a motive or anything more substantial, it all slipped through her fingers and left her grasping desperately at air. Nothing.

Wait…

**_Wait_**.

Not…nothing, precisely.

A peculiar absence of nothing, blocked by a very potent source of _something_. Was that what it had been? Was that what Kylo Ren had encountered inside her mind? He had been overpowering her will when he searched her mind for the map to Luke Skywalker, when he told her about the island. He had been overpowering her, she had tried to stop him, and then the _something_ , some _barrier_ deepest within her had stopped him dead in his tracks and she’d found herself in his mind, and there been some _thing_ or some _one_ else there that had eluded her, like the barrier, she had to find—

And Rey found herself coming up short.

What had she just been thinking about? Had she been thinking about anything?

As Jessika Pava stirred back to consciousness behind her, Rey decided it couldn’t be all that important.

*** * ***

Norra twisted and turned the holo-image in her hands, knuckles white as the knot in her belly tightened, tightened, tightened with each passing second.

Her husband was oblivious to her presence at the door, hunched as he was over the worktable in their modest, yet temporary, living quarters. Parts scattered about him in that I-know-exactly-where-everything-is-even-if-it-doesn’t-look-like-like-it way, Wedge was fiddling with some kind of power modulator, taking it apart or putting it back together she couldn’t tell. A still-luminescent holopad sat at the far end of the table, data still running across the screen—he must’ve been taking a break to clear his head of all the noise. She was loathe to disturb his brief peace.

It was funny. They had been sent here months ago to keep a covert eye on the system and its developments, to get word out to the necessary parties should the need arise. Both her and Wedge were getting up there in age—still useful, still capable in a fight if need be, but they were slowing down, eager for a bit of rest now and again. Taking up stations at Kuat had been the perfect task for them: they could provide potentially viable intelligence without necessarily sacrificing their safety, lives, or time with each other.

It had been nice, while it lasted.

With the item in her hands, things were about to change…and she wasn’t sure for the better or worse.

Either way, their modest life here was at an end.

Norra took a steadying breath, strength for what battles might be before them, and cleared her throat to draw her husband from his project.

Wedge glanced up, gentle smile seeping its way across the whole of his face and a ‘welcome home’ ready to leave his lips. The words died when he took her in—features taut, mournful, her shoulders rigid—and fell to the flimsi she had clenched in her grasp. Something had happened.

He stood up slowly, gently setting down his tools to give her his undivided attention. “What’s happened?”

Norra gave him a long, sad look, and summoned the strength to start toward him. “I was at the precinct today,” she began, “Teesha said she’d found something possibly curious.” She paused a step before her husband, reaching out to caress his cheek fondly.

Wedge Antilles wasn’t swayed. “And what was it?” He pressed. “Did you two find something?”

“Not something.” She grabbed at his hand desperately, squeezed it tight. “Some _one_.”

She let the holo-flimsi hover between them a moment, angled the image away from his sight. ‘ _Deep breaths, Norra_ ,’ she told herself, _‘One at a time. Everything will work itself out’_. She gave his hand one more squeeze.

“I need you tell me…I need you to tell me who you think this is. I know who I think it is—no, I’m _positive_ it’s who I think it is—but I want you to take a look.” Wedge was looking nervous, about to open his mouth in question. Norra cut him off. “Don’t ask me who, and don’t ask me why or how or when. Just…take a look.”

Norra released a breath and flipped the image, the soft light from the pad illuminating her husbands face.

She watched him.

She studied his face carefully, a peculiar kind of déjà vu reflected on his face for his own tumultuous process of dawning realization, occurring to her that this must have been what Teesha had seen from her. No wonder the girl had been so put off.    

Norra watched, and waited. She waited until he had collected enough of himself to straighten to his full height.

Wedge looked at her. There was pain in his eyes, and an uncertain brand of expectation—maybe even a touch of hope. But mostly there was disbelief drowning in what she might describe as the emotional personification of whiplash.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak. He found there were no words.

That was okay. Norra spoke for him.

“We need to contact Leia.”


End file.
